Actually I’m not sure if this is ironic or not (stupid Alanis. Why did you have to mess with my understanding of irony?), but here you have it:
On top of having sniffly nose allergies to Simon (who is a very cuddly guy and I don’t care that I’m allergic to him I still want to snuggle him all the time which is probably dumb but I LOVE HIM and even though I’m a little bit allergic to him it’s not as bad as it is with other breeds of cats), I seem to also be developing a cold. So even when I take Benadryl, I’m still all stuffed up and sneezy, just a different kind. Plus I’m high on Benadryl so it doesn’t count quite as much.
My sister’s birthday was on Friday. I’m not going to tell how old she turned, because that would be rude. I’ll just say that I’m 31, and she’s seven years older than I am. I feel a bit badly because I didn’t get her a present. Actually that’s not true. Back in July sometime I bought her some jewelry and I was too impatient and couldn’t wait til September to give it to her. Still though I didn’t point out that it was supposed to be her birthday gift. Not that someone who is seven years older than 31 actually demands gifts or anything and I doubt she would hold it against me. Her oldest son turns eighteen on Tuesday… it’s so hard to believe. I was 13 when he was born, and it seems like yesterday when he was this little fuzzy-headed blond guy ‘helping’ me to read Green Eggs and Ham. Now he’s a pierced, tattooed, hair-dyed-black, full-fledged adult, and it brings a little tear to my eye (I know I know, he’s not my kid…). He still loves reading, though. And he’s one of the most intelligent kids I’ve met. So it’s all good.