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Sorry. Not much of interest to say. I am still dizzy. The cause of said dizziness still eludes the medical professionals. I've been given a prescription for Allegra 180's and instructions to call in a week if I haven't returned to normal equilibrium. Giddyup. Yahoo. And all that jazz.
Recently, I was flipping through channels and came across a Little House on the Prairie rerun. Now, because I watched every single episode of LHotP when I was small and read every single word Laura Ingalls Wilder ever wrote at least twice, I left it on and enjoyed the hokey goodness of the Ingalls clan.
Maybe you remember the episode--where Laura is doing all of Nellie Olsen's homework and failing school because she's too tired to do her own, but Nellie is making her feel bad because she was hurt in a horse accident that Laura somehow caused? And Nellie is going around in a wheelchair and pretending to be all infirm but she's really fine, and Laura catches her and exposes her for the sissy fraud she is?
Any recollection? No? Well, keep it in mind...
My mom, who was not home for the aforementioned rerun but who apparently has a very good memory for all things Little House, has taken to calling Will Nellie these days. Why, you ask? Because the little pain in the ass can walk, but he only does it when he thinks we don't see him!
Today, we were sitting in the living room. He crawled into the dining room and over to one of the chairs, and then pulled himself up and walked out of my line of sight into the kitchen. I heard the thump of him landing, and then the patter of his footsteps as he pulled himself up again and walked back toward the living room. When he got back to the chair, he thudded back to the floor and crawled back to me.
He's a big faker.
Of course, he's a cute big faker, which is his saving grace.
And now I'm off to try on my dress for Amy's wedding and try to take a photo of myself in it. Not because I want to preserve the look for posterity, but because the photo will be my inspiration to stay away from the sugar and the bread.
Nine weeks to the wedding, folks. I need to get myself to a point where people won't point at Amy's wedding photos and say, "Oh look at the pork sausage that rolled into the photos!"
Sigh.
Have a lovely weekend, all.
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