I’d missed The Apprentice last week, which is a good thing because apparently they dressed up as clowns and I hate clowns. (and butterflies and wind chimes too) Come on, clowns were scary even before Stephen King’s It.
Anyway, thanks to this week’s Apprentice, I learned a new term — MILF — Mother I’d like to Fool around with. Well, I have a feeling it’s a mother I’d like to f***, but they couldn’t say that on TV. I’d like to be a MILF myself, but sadly, I think it might be a problem, as it probably would involve me getting out of pajamas more often and requires make-up and things like that. And what’s a good romance writer without a comfy pair of pjs, hair thrown up in a ponytail, typing so madly that she forgets all sense of place and time, stopping only to grab some chocolate for sustenance?
I mean, I just don’t know how sexy someone would find that. Apparently it does something for the husband, since he’s still around, but does it increase my status as a MILF? No way.
Okay — my day from hell is over and I’m done being cranky. I have a raging migraine, but that’s par for the course. Things will be fine once I take my pills, which have a side effect that reads: May cause a heightened, false sense of well-being.
I’ll bet whatever I write today will be excellent.