I’m resigned to the fact that my faith struggle is not only uncomfortable for ME… but it may also be uncomfortable for YOU. And while my first inclination is to apologize to you for putting us all in this awkward situation, I’m not going to.
I’m a summertime/LIVE at the beach kind of girl. Salt in the air and sand between my toes fixes E V E R Y problem, you know?
However, it’s winter right now and this year has been an especially difficult cold + flu season. Also: kids are disgusting little germ factories. I have two of them in my house. Don’t get me wrong… I adore them. But they are gross. Everyday they come home from school and I just want to hose them down with bleach. Don’t even try to touch me or kiss me until you’ve washed everything in anti-bacterial everything.
Sometimes I need to let my southern just hang all out in the open. I need to give in and let my heritage have its time in the spotlight. My southern belle accent can come and go depending on who {and what} I’m talking about. And my food cravings can range from chicken and dumplings to kale salad with quinoa… from fried okra and tomatoes to avo toast and curry… from biscuits and gravy to clam chowder and sushi. If it’s food, I love it…
Unless it’s miniature party food {lame} or McDonald’s food {the worst} or those tiny cocktail wieners {WHY}.
I guess tiny cocktail wieners can be put in the same category as miniature party food. It all makes sense now.
There isn’t much that inspires me enough to skip a rainy Sunday afternoon nap. We have been in the throws of a monsoon fueled by a hurricane offshore and a nasty system pounding us from the south. Gross. So you would think that an epic Sunday nap was the only thing on my radar yesterday.
It’s my birthday! My 40th – eeeeek! {or as a very dear friend likes to remind me… I’m starting my 41st year. The jury is out whether or not he remains a very dear friend at this point}
I haven’t been dreading today like I thought I would. {that was a lie right there}
I was a little scared of this drink at first. Matthew told me I was going to have to chug this so that I got the full effect of the super hot espresso followed by the cold Irish Cream… he told me it was worth the fear of burning the crap out of myself. That’s what he said… but I didn’t believe him. So I didn’t chug. I sipped like a little girl. Then he chastised me so I had to try it again… he forced me. And he was right… chugging is the way to go with this baby. Yes, the espresso is super hot – but don’t be a sissy like I was. The cold Irish Cream works everything out in the end. And who doesn’t need an extra shot of Irish Cream? Hello!
