Intervention

Friday night, Adam and I were in bed, just about to go to sleep, when I marveled at how long it had been since Sam, or any of her core group of little friends, have been sick. I talked about it at length! I marveled at her hardy nature!

GOD THIS IS SO STUPID. DO NOT EVER DO THIS.

Before I fell asleep, I heard her coughing, something she never does, and Saturday morning, she woke at an ungodly hour, flaming red, sweaty and sporting a pathetically high fever.

Streak ended, thanks to yours truly. We shall see which one of her friends is felled next, given that the whole group was HERE, at MY HOUSE, on Friday, day before the weekend sickopalypse. And it goes without really saying that I did this. It is all my fault. I BROUGHT THIS UPON US.

She’s fine now, but, ah, that was our weekend. How was yours?

OH WAIT, I lied … there was more excitement! We risked a trip to Microcenter, sick unhappy kid in tow (cabin fever, FTW! GENIUS PARENTING!), where Adam had a nerdgasm, and I marveled at the fact that a not-insignificant portion of the Microcenter-going MIT population is terminally nerdy, and not in the sexy way I always imagined. I mean, *I* am married to an attractive smart geeky-type who is good with things like circuits, computers and algorithms (oh my!), and I know plenty of hot MIT alums! Besides, on the tee vee, all the nerdy guys are like Patrick Dempsey in Can’t Buy Me Love. It’s nothing a little pomade can’t fix, amirite?

Wrong. WRONG WRONG WRONG. It turns out, the irredeemable nerd with the greasy hair, cable knit sweater and weirdly pube-like facial hair exists, and it’s likely that you can find him at Microcenter in Cambridge, hovering over the stacks of RAM.

There you have it. The most thrilling weekend in history.

But wait, Ken — is there more? YES! It can be made even more thrilling by the fact that I declared, out loud and everything, that I was going to “treat myself” to some high-end doggie poop bags. OMFG. TREAT MYSELF. TO A BAG THAT PICKS UP MY DOG’S SHIT. I made a big deal about buying them — Mutt Mitts — thinking how much easier they would make walking Sunny instead of those godawful recycled Stop & Shop bags that always have holes in the bottom, leaving my FINGERS to end up in my dog’s POOP! And how they would be worth the extra cost!

(They are.)

I … oh my God, I don’t even know where to start with this, except that I bought them this afternoon, and it’s taken me until JUST NOW to realize how sad it is that I consider dog waste bags a LUXURY ITEM. Look at ME! I think that I am WORTHY of not sticking my hand in animal feces! I think I missed a memo from L’Oreal or something, because my definition of being worth it comes in a package of $10 Mutt Mitts.

Someone also call the spa, because MAMA IS COMING IN FOR A MASSAGE. IT’S TIME.

Happy Tuesday!

*Arcade Fire

25 comments February 14th, 2011