Crooked Boundaries Are Still Boundaries

It's not always me, Reader. It's usually me, but we can't just jump to that conclusion all the time. It would be impolite, and we are all about manners here. Right? Right. Now excuse me, I have to adjust my vagina. (see how polite that was? because l.a.d.y.) 

I started off February and really wanted to have words every day. But then some days just get away from me due to excessive napping a busy to do list. Superbowl Sunday was one of those days. So here we are a day behind again. 

I got up at the god-awful-early hour of 11 a.m. It was still MORNING, Judgy McJudgerPants. Made a very unfortunate breakfast, where nothing really lived up to the word "good" except the scrambled eggs, which were nice, but certainly didn't justify the ridiculous amount of dirty dishes that breakfast created.  

After all that wasted effort, I needed a nap. 

The cats agreed. They're good that way. 

So we laid back down, still in my new, warm and fuzzy pajammies and canoodled with mah kittehs for a few more hours.  Yes, HOURS. Because all the cooking made us tired. 

Then we had a Superbowl party to attend.

The stage was completely reset for a repeat performance of the Superbowl Party of 2014 at the same residence, in which Peyton Manning was also playing.

That was the Superbowl Party that shall forever go down in Bang Bang History as the Most Awkwardly Embarrassing Party Ever in the History of Parties. That is the official title of the Superbowl Party of 2014.  

A few very fortunate Readers have heard the story. And they beg for it again and again when we're sitting around campfires, making s'mores and telling tales. This is the one they all want to hear: Trixie's Most Awkwardly Embarrassing Party Ever in the History of Parties.

You'd probably like to hear it, too, huh Reader.  

Well, this is going to come as a shock to you - take a seat - but there are some stories that just haven't been shared here yet and are not teed up to do it anytime soon, either.  

Because see the top of this post (l.a.d.y.) 

When this story comes out it'll be something you need to pay for Reader. Trust me, it'll be worth your 99cents.  I mean, I might as well make $12 off this story, am-i-right?

Humiliation has to have some value.