It's a Woman's Prerogative...

...to sit around on her ample ass all day.

See, this morning, I woke up at the regular time. And I may or may not have had more than the regular number of beers last night, so I may or may not have hit the snooze alarm a couple extra times. But it worked out in the end, because I may or may not have fumbled with the clock when setting the alarm (thanks to said questionable imbibing), and I may or may not have accidentally set the clock ahead an extra twenty minutes.

Eventually, I did get up. I padded out to turn on the computer so I could write something pithy and toss it out into the void. (That would be you people. You're the void. Heh heh.) And on my way by, I shouted in to Johnny:

"Johnny!" I said. "I'm sorry! I forgot to set your alarm last night! Which may or may not have had something to do with beers seven through nine!"

(He pretends not to be able to set alarms for himself. He cries dyslexia, pulls a face, says pretty-please. I know he's perfectly capable, but I do it for him all the same. You see why it's best I just keep on not having children? Anyway...)

"It's six o'clock!" I went on. "Time to get up!"

As you can see, I'm very exclamation-pointy in the morning.

"But," says he, "I don't have to go to work today!"

He's not usually so exclamation-pointy in the morning. Only when I wake him, shouting, on days he doesn't have to go to work.

"What?" says I, going all question-marky. "I thought? Since when?"

"L. was going to call if we were working. He didn't call. So we are not." Period.

"Oh..." I responded, beginning to feel somewhat elliptical. "So...

"What the hell am I doing awake, then?"

And soon enough, I wasn't anymore.

All this is to say I gave myself a spontaneous day off. Of everything. But then I was literally sitting on the couch, watching The Daily Show and eating bon-bons (okay, Lindor Truffles; just what the truffle is a bon-bon, anyway?), and I started to feel guilty. Thinking about all of you out there sitting in your offices, hitting the refresh button over and over all day long, waiting for your pithy dose of void. (You see what I did there? This time it's me. Now I'm the void. Heh-heh).

So here it is:

Oh no wait. That's noid, not void. Just what the pizza is a noid-thing, anyway?

Mmmm... pizza...



Well, I guess I'd better get back on the couch. Dinner's not just going to go ordering itself, now, is it?