I confess that in order to keep my layer of fat healthy to survive the winter with no end, I ate sweetened condensed milk straight out of the can. No. I am not kidding. I just opened up the can and dug right in with my spoon. I won't say that it was pretty, but, it was yummy . . .and sweet . . . and delicious. It was especially good on pretzels, too. You know that salty, sweet combo can't be beat! (And if you have not ever tried this fine confection, go get yourself to the nearest store, buy a can of the Eagle brand sweetened condensed milk, and then you can commence eating yourself happy. I know. I know. You are welcome.)
I confess that rather than resorting to sitting on my two year old to get her clothed, I allowed Ellerie to wear her princess pajama top for two days in a row. Night. Day. Night. Day. Again. By the end of the wearing, Snow White looked a bit tanned from the hot chocolate spilled on her, and Cinderella definitely looked like her before pic. . . minus the birds and mice mulling around. No matter. Ellerie had clothes on and frankly, in my world, that is what mattered.
I confess that I have been systematically pulling hubby's dirty clothes out of the shared dirty laundry pile. No. I don't want him to go to work with a rank aroma. And, no. I am not trying to teach him a lesson. (Although I should after he recently tried to "help" with the laundry and washed a few loads with fabric softener instead of detergent!) I am actually trying to conduct an informal science experiment. I am trying to prove that the majority of my mountain of laundry is made by hubs himself. He, of course, seems to disagree. We'll see who wins when he is out of clean socks.
I confess that if my daughter auditioned for American Idol and she sounded like a cat having sex, I would be the first person to put her out of her misery. Mothers everywhere, listen up! You should be ashamed of yourselves for letting your babies think that they can actually sing. Isn't your job as a mother to periodically dash the hopes and dreams of your offspring thereby causing them to go to therapy? Hmmmm??? By shirking your motherly duties, you have now hurt people's hearing across the nation. Fortunately, it hurts so good, as bad singing makes for great TV.
I confess that I did not brush my hair at all yesterday.
I confess that I love my short hair do.
I confess that I hate the gray hairs that are popping up everywhere, despite my recent trip to the hair salon for color. I confess that I am still armed with my trusty sharpie marker for just such hair related emergencies, and I will use it at will to keep those gray hairs at bay.
I confess that I am fighting off an overwhelming urge to visit my local Krispie Kreme. The store owners must have sensed my burning desire as they had the Hot Now sign lit up in red neon. They obviously are the devil's spawn.
And with that, dear friends, I am off.
By the way, would you like to link up your own confessions? Let me know in the comments if this is something that you would like to do, otherwise, I confess I have no desire to figure out how to set up a MckLinky.