The 7 dwarves were one person. Let’s see. Sleepy – check. Dopey – check. Grumpy – check. Happy – check. Doc – sure, I can be a know-it-all. Sneezy – who doesn’t love a good sneeze now and then. Bashful – Okay, perhaps if we re-named him Self Conscious, I’d be 7 for 7. PLUS I’m a slob… Except I’m not one for doting on princesses…though she did clean that house…so yeah…I am they. They are me. I am them? Gah.
I am such a spaz. My feet hurt. Shoes are not allowed indoors in this gorgeous Hawaiian hideaway on the spectacular bamboo flooring, and I am NOT complaining. We started cooking Thanksgiving dinner around lunchtime, and I kind of didn’t sit down for a long time. Let’s just say I had a plan…Operative word: HAD. I am neither mouse nor man…but my best laid plans oft go astray, too…maybe more oft than not, but that doesn’t keep me from trying (again and again). SO…The “I am a spaz” part of this paragraph came when I realised I had, in typical Shelby fashion, set out to start one task, and ended up in the right direction, but with very muddy (and apparently sore) feet.
I wanted to write an entry about my upcoming surgery. I wanted to start (or continue) the Chronic(what)cles (no, you didn’t. yes. I did) of (Sleep) Apnea. Instead, I decided to wax poetic about the seven freaking dwarves and their gorgeous housekeeper who won’t touch apples anymore. Lovely.
Better luck next time. SMAC out.
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