I have no words.
Not in an "I'm so horrified/disgusted I can't even speak" kind of way, but in a "hmmm...what the heck should I blog about?" way.
I got nothin'.
I'm probably drained from spending the weekend with my mother. It was her birthday Saturday. I was (and always shall be) her early birthday present. The only reason I wasn't born on her birthday was because her doctor only did C-sections on Tuesdays. I suppose I should be glad, according to Mother Goose, Wednesday's child sounds like a downer.
Oh, the irony of a Sunday's child.
Not in an "I'm so horrified/disgusted I can't even speak" kind of way, but in a "hmmm...what the heck should I blog about?" way.
I got nothin'.
I'm probably drained from spending the weekend with my mother. It was her birthday Saturday. I was (and always shall be) her early birthday present. The only reason I wasn't born on her birthday was because her doctor only did C-sections on Tuesdays. I suppose I should be glad, according to Mother Goose, Wednesday's child sounds like a downer.
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay.
Oh, the irony of a Sunday's child.
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