In which I speak in code so as to prevent my dear mother from dissowning her nearly thirty year old (ACK!) unmarried daughter.

Yesterday, I have to say, I had never been so thrilled to get my "Monthly Backache of Doom". Usually I am bemoaning its arrival and popping Midol like M&Ms and whining like a little botch when it comes.

But not this time.

This time I may or may have done some cartwheels and then marched around with a parade of trombones behind me while throwing confetti around the living room. Do you know why? Because my "Monthly Backache of Doom" decided to take a little vacation last month. As with the thing that usually happens directly after the "Monthly Backache of Doom." More specifically speaking (in code), my "Monthly Confirmation That I Am Indeed Without Child."

And through countless panicked hours of Googling and more Googling and more Ooglie Googling of websites and forums on what it means when your "Monthly Confirmation That You Are Indeed Without Child" is one day two days one week infinity aaaaaaaaaack!!! late, you know what I learned? I effing learned that your "Monthly Confirmation" symptoms are EXACTLY EFFING THE SAME as the your "Monthly Confirmation Is Not Going To Come For Ooooh About NINE MONTHS" symptoms. You know, like the eating everything in sight. And the tenderness of the breasticles. And the bloatation that can double (if you're paranoid...like me) as an alien baby bump.

You know what else is not fun? When all of this coincides precisely with your weeks long cold/flu that manifests itself in things like fatigue and slight nausea. So, you know. Ugh. Not helpful at all.

Hey, Universe? Worst practical joke. EVER.

But anyway. Today was the day that I have been hoping and praying and wishing for for the past eight weeks. Praise Jeebus Hallelujah. I am celebrating by having a glass of vino. A glass of vino that will in no way shape or form harm any sort of phantom alien lifeform inside my uterus.

I'm pretty sure there is only one other person that will be even more overjoyed than I am. Because I don't know if Schmoobles can take much more of my hissing like a feral cat and clawing at his eyeballs every time he even deigns to look in my direction, let alone give me a HUG without first wrapping himself up in Saran wrap from head to toe.

Did I mention that I am drinking wine? Because I am.

Oh, one more thing. One of my idiot students (college, mind you) used the word "profeshonal" in a written assignment this week. Yeesh. *pours self another glass of wine*