My lingering cold from last week turned into a fever, aches and a sore throat accompanied by a lovely cough that sounds as if I’ve been smoking since birth (and I don’t smoke). Missing the tail end of the work week, I slept about 40 of the 48 hours in my absence from my job.
Luckily, I had a feline tag team that took turns keeping me company on the couch, while insisting I flip from time to time alleviating the appearance of any bed sores.
Ted, waaaay over this caretaker shit.
But by the start of the weekend, both decided they’d had enough.
You’re still sick? Sucks to be you.
Turns out my insane adoration of cats is being passed down to my niece, Princess B. She’s never found far away from her new little stuffed love.
Cray cray cat lady in the making.
Princess B is so enamored with cats that she’s taught herself how to lick a peppermint like a feline.
Auntie CBXB’s heart bursts with pride.
Meanwhile her stud of a twin, Prince B, is able to blow kisses with not one but two hands.
Double fisting kisses.
I know, I know, we have baby geniuses in our family.
While running a quick errand I came across an old summertime standard – a lemonade stand that simply begged for me to make a purchase.
With proceeds going to charity, how could I resist two glasses?
What do you do when life hands you lemonade?
Add moonshine, naturally.
Just what the doctor ordered.
With a little help from my ‘shine, I traipsed up to the pool in my Tory flops on Sunday.
Me and Ms. Burch soaking up the sun.
While also soaking up some other fumes.
As the pool people came out in droves, I was lucky enough to have this gaggle of girls sit next to me and fill my afternoon with entertainment. Turns out I have go-go Gadget hearing (because my eyesight fails me so) and heard a discussion in regard to all things baby, as one of the gals was pregnant. Being that I couldn’t tell, and the soon-to-be mama was wearing a skimpy two piece, I’m guessing she was 26 days along.
Southern bathing beauties.
The topic of their non-stop, four hour conversation was baby names. When asked what the preggo lady planned to name her unborn offspring, she said,
“I want something regal or deep Southern. Or Southernly regal.”
I could hardly wait to hear what the fuck kind of name was Southern AND regal (is that even possible?).
So in between turns on this lovely camouflaged float, they shouted names back and forth the rest of the day.
Throne fit for something sorta kinda regal…
“What about Rebel? Or wait – Charlie Daniel? Shit! Noooo – what about Jack Daniel? Oh but Bentley is so pretty.”
And while they hemmed and hawed over the suggestions, one of the gals on the float hollered – “I know – TATER!” All of the talking ceased immediately which was followed by ooohs and ahhhs. Mom could hardly wait to share the news with Baby Daddy (not boyfriend as she kept correctly every gal pal who suggested such a travesty).
Can’t wait to see baby Tater at the pool next summer.
Exhausted from eavesdropping and laying in chlorine all day, I took my ass back to the mini manse where I finally had an appetite again. So I made the most unhealthiest of salads possible.
The weekend drew to a close as New Cat staked his claim in the not at all highly sought after brown paper sack bed.
Is there anything more soft and cozy than coarse paper?
Wanting nothing to do with non-comfortable beds, Ted snoozed on the couch as I tried to squeeze in behind him.
You can see how concerned he is over my health.
Damn cat being all regal and Southern at the same time.