It must be Saturday. He's singing.
Twenty-five pounds of pure cane sugar
She's got in each and every kiss
You wouldn't know what I'm talking 'bout
If you never had a love like this
Well, I don't mean to be frank with you all
It's a natural fact
Good things come wrapped up in small, small packages now
Well you can't argue with that
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Ninety-nine pounds of natural born goodness
Ninety-nine pounds of soul
Aw. I like days that begin this way. I also like days that start off with noticing new muscles on my husband while we're in the shower. His calf muscles have muscles on their muscles now. He claims it's from all the running we were doing.
Well then shouldn't I have those too?
I don't.
Ninety-nine pounds of fluff.
But my cold is waning, so that is a good thing. Sneezing with cracked ribs makes me want to bind myself up with duct tape and hope for the best. Owies. Today I'm going to wear my new jeans as I run around doing errands that I put off all week long. Winter is still raging here in the north and it's become incredibly difficult to find the want to leave the house unless it's absolutely necessary.
It's a good excuse to treat myself to some new reads and so I shall add the bookstore to my list. I think I have exhausted the library, truth be told. I didn't think that was possible in a city this big. Of course, the day the library snugs a Starbucks in betwixt their rows of words is the day I grab my stuff and go move right in. I'm hooked. I'll admit. But my habit runs once a week or less so I can still justify a designer coffee without being branded a fanatic.
I swear.
