Love Hangover

I'm getting off to a bit of a slow start this morning. I'm exhausted. Of course with yesterday being Valentine's Day, I spent the night doing very little sleeping and a whole lotta' screaming.

Wink. Wink. Nudge. Nudge.

Yeah. Right.

I did do very little sleeping...due to the three and a half year old hogging my pillow, and digging tiny little toes into my stomach and/or back.
I also did plenty of screaming thanks to The Husband.
I yelled things like...
"You're snoring again!" "Would you please roll over?!" "ROLL OVER!

Snoring is so hot.

I'm glad I no longer buy into the Valentine's Day hype, or I may have felt let down.
Who needs a romantic dinner....I prefer the Mexican pizzas, eaten off of paper plates, each lovingly poked, prodded, and fingered by The Girl.
Who needs a night of passion when you can stay up late watching some financial advisor on PBS and crawl into a bed to find your spot is being hogged warmed for you?

Not Me. Nope. Passion schmassion.

I did, however get a gushy card from The Husband....and even better than that, a whole pound of Scotch-Mallows from See's candy. Yum. I think I'll keep him.

Side note: The Sport's Illustrated Swimsuit issue came out. Beyonce is on the cover. In an interview she said she loves the magazine because they feature "real women...with real curves"
Um...what now? Real women? Real curves? Uh, yeah. Shut up. When the scrawny wisps of girls found in those magazines face deciding whether to tuck their tummy roll into their pants or let it flop over, when they put on jeans and are confronted with the disturbing "swish, swish" sound of thighs rubbing together, or when their breasts sit on their laps when they are not wearing a bra...then, they can call themselves "real women". Hrumph.