In case you didn’t know, let me spell it out. When I write something to the effect of “Julie is out of town,” it means, “for God’s sake, send me an email or something because I’m tired of having my only conversational material be ‘put that down’ or ‘clean that up.’” Which is to say, when you see that Julie is out of town, go ahead an comment or send me an email.
Having sick kids in the house isn’t helping. I swear, for two nights in a row, the clock on the microwave was taunting me with “2:28” (exactly on the nose both nights) when Coco was “asking” (for lack of a better word) for something to drink.
And the straw that almost broke my camel-back yesterday was the fridge. Around five I saw that the beers were sweaty and thought “How odd.” Then, after the kids were asleep, it dawned on me. It’s not just freakin’ humid (it is), but the fridge isn’t working. The light was on, but the numbers indicating the coolness level weren’t on 4, they were on “-“ (maybe they were commenting on me, who knows).
After much frustration and some venting calls to Julie, I realized that I might as well try to move the thing, though it might fall on me and squish me. At least I would have gone out swinging.
But the fridge wouldn’t budge, so I’m still alive.
Luckily, I finally remembered that we have a fuse box.