Got quite a few things accomplished, the house didn't look half-bad, heck, we even managed to get to church this morning.
Dinner was really quite tasty, no catastrophes involved at all (I know!!), and everyone was hunkered down to watch some AFV before bed. (I guess it's not really a guilty pleasure if I keep telling people that I watch it, is it?)
Then I decided to take off my shirt before I started to colour my hair. (Those are reasons one and two for starting to feel less great about yourself, combined.)
And then I looked down and discovered an unidentified glob of food in my cleavage.
No one knows what it was, or how long it was there (to be said in the Spinal Tap voice from the spoken word portion of Stonehenge, please).
I guessed peanut butter. DH guessed caramel.
Answer: cookie dough - undoubtedly from when I was feverishly licking the beater before any children could come up and ask to do the same.
Which ultimately made me think to myself:
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