Let's Talk About Feet, Baby.

Well, that's what I initially intended this blog post to be about. Yep, feet. But the more I started typing, the more ridiculous the whole thing sounded.

The thing is, I have feet that are in DIRE need of a pedicure. BUT, the very thought of having anyone come near my feet with their hands or whatever torture devices pedicurists (?) use, sends shivers down my spine.

Yes, I have a problem with the feet touching thing. Craig, a fan of foot touching, can't understand my problem. In fact, on more than one occasion, he has suggested that it's probably some sort of psychological issue. My sanity may be questionable at times, but it has nothing to do with my hatred of the foot touch.

If I were a terrorist, you wouldn't need to waterboard me. You'd just have to threaten to touch my feet. I'd spill it all in the blink of an eye.

I first thought to blog about feet because Caroline has grown accustomed to shoving her feet in my face and demanding that I rub them, while we watch TV at night. She thinks it's funny. She actually enjoys having her feet touched. I, on the other hand, find it entirely unamusing. Because, really....feet? Touching? Um, not my favorite.

Anyway, I erased all that I previously wrote about feet because it was utterly ridiculous. And yet, I still managed to write about feet.

The truth is, I don't really have much to say right now. Life is, as always, a little uneventful. My brain seems to be on spring break, but spring break doesn't start until next week.

I haven't an original thought in my head right now. Nothing deep (as if!). Not even anything shallow.
No news is good news, right?

I'm sort of on autopilot. The days are all the same. Same routine. Same food.
Same. Same. Same.

Don't get me wrong, same is good. Same is comfortable.

I like same.
The problem with everything being the same is then you haven't anything to talk about.

I haven't baked in ages so I can't post pictures of my tasty treats.
I could talk about the weather. But you don't care about that.
I don't even care about the weather. Just don't tell Caroline. She'd disapprove.

I could tell you that I've recently come to realize that I hate the term "date night." I'm not sure why it bothers me so much, but it does. "What should we do for date night?" Ugh, it just totally bugs me. Instead of saying "we're having date night" why can't you say we're "going out to dinner?" Or "watching a movie?" Just because you're watching a movie with your spouse at home doesn't qualify it as "date night." You're watching a movie. If you're watching a movie at 1:30 on a Saturday afternoon with your spouse, it's just a movie then, right? It's not "date afternoon." It's a movie. A movie is a movie is a movie. It's not "date night." Gah. I don't know why this annoys me so much.

I could talk about vegetables. And jelly beans. I like jelly beans. But not the spiced ones. I bought speckled jelly bird eggs last week and have them hidden in my secret pantry candy stash. It's taken a lot of self control, something I sorely lack, to refrain from eating the whole bag.

Let's see...what else? Oh, I got some new running shoes. On clearance. I actually had Craig order them for me from his (not so) exotic deployment locale because he is sole possessor of the VIP number required to get the sweet clearance deals and free shipping from our favorite running shoe purveyor. The shoes arrived yesterday; they're so pristine looking. And they smell good, too. I love the smell of new shoes.

Alrighty then.
This post is as disjointed as I feel.

Maybe I need some jelly beans to give my brain a boost?