Sorry, Charley

As the two (?) of you who occasionally read this know, Ethan is in Florida looking after his father who just had surgery. He's slated to return home tomorrow afternoon. For two weeks I have been looking forward to tomorrow, so if Hurricane Charley thinks he's going to throw a monkey wrench in my plans (or an uprooted palm tree), he's got another think comin'.

Neither Hell nor hurricane hath wrath like a woman in the throes of PMS who hasn't been in close proximity to a man in a fortnight. I'm already mere millimeters from insanity at this point, Charley. Don't push me. You still have a chance to veer off at the last minute and go whirling out into the Atlantic. You might want to consider that if you know what's good for you.

Aside: You know someone's egotistical when they threaten the weather.

In Other News: A 480 lb. woman in Florida died as rescue workers tried to remove her from her couch to which she had grown fast after six years of not moving from it. See article here. Her skin had literally become one with the fabric of the couch. My question is, how long do you have to stay put before you start to grow fast? In six years of couch sitting, assuming she wasn't the full 480 pounds at the beginning, wouldn't you change position occasionally? Maybe get up to fluff the cushions? Or go to the bathroom for crying out loud? Why didn't the man living with her seek help? Did she ever ask for it? I feel so terrible for her.

Ethan, if I ever reach 480 lbs. and can no longer remove myself from the futon please, please, PLEASE promise me you'll get help. I can't imagine being so fat that I'm unable to even get up to get more food, though sometimes I feel like I'm well on my way. Imagine being such a couch potato that you actually put down roots!

That's it for now kids. Time to work.