Jesus Christ.
Hi.
Remember me? I'm Bridget. And I could come in here and wipe my wet boots on the doormat and weave you a wonderfully funny stupid story about how five minutes into the very first showing of my first house I realized I couldn't do this repeatedly and so I signed the two cats up for a weekend sleepover with the vet.
On the way there the puppy barfed all over the front seat of the car.
On the upside? One down, and quite a few more to go.
The dog is going to hate my guts by the end of the weekend. I will hate his too. We'll be even!
(I still love him but he is way more work than a child so next time someone tells you that, know that they lie.)
Meh, and we're off again. But my house looks DAMN good and I'm even sick. So there! This is that moment where you stare into the face of adversity and scream,
IS THAT ALL YOU'VE GOT?
Indeed. It's enough. Fuck off now, bad luck.
