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Monday, March 08, 2004

This is the first day of week 30. On Sunday I will officially be out of the 20's, and praise God, because honey, those 20's took about 50 years to get through.

Let's talk about anti-embolism stockings and leg hair growth:
When you can't wax your legs or even shave them because a big whale tummy is in your way your hair starts to grow making comfort in anti-embolism stockings an impossible dream. I think my legs itched less when I had chicken pox (and in the pursuit of excellence I contracted it twice)! Each little leg hair stands on end and pokes its ugly head through gaps in the fiber of the hottest leggings imaginable. The hairs hang there and at each shift pull. Hundreds of nasty little hairs being tugged on—not enough to pull the buggars out, mind you, but just enough to cause the constant discomfort of itching.
It serves me right.

Currently, I am the owner of a Sphynx, a "naked" cat whom we refer to as the "baw-head dog." This cat is lucky not to have hair otherwise I would torment it as I have every other furry feline in my history. Here's the job:

You take a furry cat who is napping peacefully and you find one single hair to torment. You grasp this one hair lightly and give it a quick tug, not hard enough to remove it, but hard enough to create the sensation of a solitary biting flee. Kitty bolts upright and scratches the phantom flea before settling into a blissful nap once again. At which point, you pull the same hair. You repeat this procedure until said cat goes into convulsions or you simply can't stand your own malevolence anymore. It's great fun, unless you're on the receiving end, which is where I find myself now. Cosmic justice.

The little gut monkey seems to be doing well, and by that I mean she is currently still alive and twanging away at my viscera. Praise God again! If born now, she has got great odds. She'd have to stay in the hospital for a little over a month or so, but she probably wouldn't die. This is good news! Each day she stays put elevates her odds.

Her big brother is growing ever concerned over two things in particular:
1. He realized on his own that his life will change—again.
2. He is pretty miffed that she will get nummy nummies, and he won't. They were once "his" nummy nummies and he's pretty territorial. He doesn't even particularly like it when Daddy kisses Mommy, so the nummy nummies thing with Elise is going to drive him bazoots.

I've got children's books to deal with concern number one, but so far I haven't found an Arthur or Berenstain Bears picture book on boobie envy.

I'm still looking.

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