Yesterday one of my mice, Alex, died. At first Matt tried to rationalize me out of my sadness by saying, "You knew they were going to die eventually." After my response, "Well, so are you, but I'm still going to cry," he was more sympathetic, but a bit concerned that this grieving period will eventually happen eight more times.
I don't know about the rest of you, but if I tried reaching two people named (for our purposes) Susan and Sally and reached an answering machine with an outgoing message that started with "You have reached the residence of Jennifer and Matt," I wouldn't be so quick to tell Susan and Sally to get their asses into gear. But like I said, that's just me.
When your friend tells you that he's been checking out girls on the internet, do you immediately think he's looking at porn? Or is it just me who needs to drag her mind out of the gutter?
Dear Santa,
I think I've been reasonably good this year, so if it's not too much trouble I would like the following:
-- a computer glitch that will mysteriously erase all record of Matt's student loans.
-- a mouse translator.
-- lucky winning streaks every time I set foot in Las Vegas.
-- better hand-eye coordination (or whatever will make me less clumsy).
-- a personal chef.
-- the second season of Carnivàle to begin immediately.
Much love,
Jennifer
P.S. Instead of cookies and milk, there will be Kahlúa and chocolate waiting for you.