It’s 1:47 a.m., and I’m awake.
To be honest, I suck at sleeping when ThatManILove is out of town.
I have to fly out of here in the morning. And before I do that, I have to catch a chiropractor appointment, pack, run by the office to get some checks ready to deposit, and just generally get my proverbial poop together.
Awake enough to write this plaintive cry of dismay. (Otherwise known as the literary version of WHINE.)
Awake enough to consider going to get something to eat so I will sleep. You know, like something that would inspire a carb coma or something? (But scared I will miss my 5:30 a.m. alarm if I do so. And also, pretty scared of my trainer, aka
Cruella DeVille V'Lesha. I’ve heard about what happens when V'Lesha wears purple shoes. SCARY, people. SCARY.)
It’s all Crystal's A Pistol’s fault.
She left a comment on my blog. And I was awake, and responding to emails, and checked out her blog.
And her man, who obviously is not out of town, made her “The Daddy” of all waffles. And to make matters worse, she posted pictures.
And the craving was, therefore, flung. Upon me. For waffles.
And to top that baby off, I wanna know just how that woman, Crystal, can look like that and eat “The Daddy” of all waffles? She is gorgeous.
I clicked “follow”. Because I’m gonna find out. And the icing on the cake is that she’s really funny, too.
Meanwhile, back to the real issue at hand...does IHOP deliver?