An Epic Night

Ruffling.  For curtains.  And not on the edges.  Just you wait, it's going to be epic.

I hate the over-use of the word epic.  As in, epicly hate it.

These curtains are proving epicly difficult to cut in straight lines.

Apparently, my camera is proving epicly difficult to focus.

Speaking of epicly difficult things, Handsome seems to be having some trouble with the English language lately.  I asked him this morning if he had any activity to record for WW.  He replied, "No, I've been pretty doormat lately."  When I told him it was the wrong word, he helped me understand; "Door, as in 'inside', and mat, as in 'laying down a lot.'"  

This reminds me of times when my sister would use a new word to insult Handsome.  Something like  calling him a "COCCYDYNIA" or similar.  Handsome would always just smile at her.  She'd ask why he wasn't upset, and was always peeved when he explained that, since he didn't know what the word meant, he hadn't been insulted.

We all have our nights.

In closing, a poem of lament.

Hot Fudge, so rich and yummy,

Why have I so seldom invited you to my tummy?

You're good on ice cream, better on cake,

Chocolate syrup is less than your fake.

Fruit is convinced to be devoured when,

covered in fudge, a perfect ten.

I'll never keep to my points now that you're here,

But if you would leave, I'd shed more than one tear.

Poetically epicly yours,

TFW

p.s.- Day 1 of FebFreeze: Didn't spend any moola.  Didn't hardly even leave my house, which is impressive or depressing, depending on your viewpoint.