This craft fair thing will stress me into an early grave and annoy the living crud out of my family in the process, leaving them with dead crud all up inside, so nobody wins. I haven’t done anything except paint and the amount of doghair up in this cribizzle (What? I can talk like a pimp) is just straight dangerous.
My house is trashed and the prognosis isn’t good. Maybe I’ll get a chance to tidy up on Sunday after my Jackson-Pollock-esque art storm is over and done with. I got a shower today for the first time in like 72 hours. I’m feverishly working–literally, feverishly–to get everything done that I set out to do, and I’m nowhere even close to accomplishing even half of my painting goals.
Not so sure I like craft fairs. The sitting around in the soothing presence of people who want to buy my wares and such? Love it. The preparation is a much less enchanting aspect. If I’m not feeling better by Saturday, my public will be sourly disappointed because I just won’t show up. I will sit at home, drooling on the couch in an acetametaphin-induced stupor, surrounded by all the merchandise I’m not out there selling. It’s either that, or Caleb will have to go in my place, which could actually work out well: not only is he an excellent salesman, he’s uber-hot, so he could lightly flirt with crafthounds and their great-grandmothers, which would theoretically boost my profits. Then, everybody’s happy. Theoretically.
Sike. I think I’ll keep my trophy husband at home thankyouverymuch. It’s a craft fair, not a meat market. (But Caleb is a total beefcake. Can I say beefcake? Does anybody even use that word anymore?)
Speaking of husbands, people are all the time googling “How to kiss your husband/how can I kiss my husband/kiss husband/how can I start a kiss with my husband?” and winding up on this little post. Omg, people! Just kiss your husbands already! You need not read an article about it! Just go for it! Do it! Kiss him! Square on the mouth! Right now! Just…no, wait. Brush your teeth first.