Take a Yellow Chainsaw to the Old Oak Tree

It's that time of year again.

The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing and the blasted oak trees begin sprouting leaves.

My nose is dripping. My eyes itch incessantly. My throat looks bullfrog-like due to swollen glands and the bags under my eyes have reached mammoth-sized proportions.

The rest of the year I love the oak trees. However, when they bloom, I could gladly go out and cut them all down. Then I would enclose my house inside a magical pollen-proof tent.

Mix these miserable allergies with PMS and I'm not surprised to see my family in the corner plotting ways to make my death look like an accident.

If any of you were here, you would help them with the plotting.
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We took the kids to a motel in Auburn, CA Saturday night for no reason other than to spend some time with them. Actually it was my husband's idea.

My idea was to leave them at the drop-in daycare while we went out to dinner.

The hotel had a spa and heated pool, both motel requirements for my husband.

Me, I don't care, because the last time I was in public in a swimsuit was probably ten years ago and I made sure it was dark out first. That was until this trip anyway.

I do have a swimsuit. It looks like this.

If it were possible to find the old time swimsuits that covered women from elbow to knee, I would have one.

I took the swimsuit to the motel with us just in case. I tried it on only to begin laughing hysterically.

It used to fit, but now it's a good size or two larger than I need.

So it sagged down on the crotch looking for all the world like I was hiding a penis in there.

I did eventually get up my courage to wear it, so as to help my husband with the kids in the pool. I made sure it was dark out first and walked to the pool with my clothes covering it.

I then quickly removed the clothes and slid in the pool. There was a man with his son there, the only people besides my family in the pool.

He left almost as soon as I got in. Maybe my penis scared him off.

The kids had a blast. As with most "breaks" taken with the kids, my husband and I came home more tired than when we left.

Now it is time for me to cease my bitching and try to clean the house.

Will someone let me know when Friday gets here?