I’m done. Tired of trying to figure out what to do next with my life. Tired of being a slave to the to-do list. Tired of getting up in the morning and just piddling til I go to bed at night.
So I’m running away to Bermuda with the UPS guy. He already has twelve wives, but wanted one more for an Baker’s dozen. I’m looking forward to it; some warmth and sun is just what I needed.
Tom quit his job and is moving to Alaska to be a deep-sea fisherman. He’s also planning on working on Sarah Palin’s 2012 Presidential campaign. He figures she just didn’t get a fair shake.
The boys were both accepted into Major Tom’s Military Boarding School and Bait Shop. A is looking forward to learning how to use an AK-47 and hooking his own line. J isn’t too sure about it all, but figures if he gets to learn to cook, then he’s good.
Rosie is going back to school to be a guide dog for the terminally clueless. I keep asking her if this is what she really wants, but I just get this quizzical look and a lick. I guess that’s a yes.
Well, I really should go pack. Wait, I don’t need to pack. As the 13th wife at a nudest colony (oh, did I mention that part?), I’m not going to need much other than sunscreen.
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