So I went to visit my mother. Pretty uneventful, although she did try to pawn off a Michelle Duggar, screams-Penecostal maternity dress on me.* On the way home, I stopped to get gas. The gas pump was overtaken by some sort of demon and didn't shut off when the tank was full. That gas had to go somewhere and about two gallons of it ended up on me. Dripping from my shirt, soaking my bra, eating away my elastic waistband. Woe is me. I drove home like a bat out of hell, skin burning all the while, got lost along the way (which I blame on fumes), and finally, blissfully washed that crap off about 45 minutes later. I have never been so happy to take a shower.
The good news is that I cadged another illicit low-tech ultrasound out of Grandma after this little adventure. Baby Peach was wiggling like a maniac and silently berating me for the stinky environment she was forced to endure. It was worth it. Almost.
*Complete with enlarged Peter Pan collar and breast bow.
The good news is that I cadged another illicit low-tech ultrasound out of Grandma after this little adventure. Baby Peach was wiggling like a maniac and silently berating me for the stinky environment she was forced to endure. It was worth it. Almost.
*Complete with enlarged Peter Pan collar and breast bow.
