I'm slowly coming out of my mourning period.
After 2 days of eating my morning oatmeal drenched with my own tears, I proclaimed steadfastly aloud "we shall return." Fatness and I have discussed the ill-fated game at length. Sure we could have been less sloppy in the first half, perhaps we could have pushed Harrison out of bounds, maybe we could have used our no-huddle offense sooner, or our defense could have stood up at the end. Fatness assures me that Warner will return, as will Boldin, he told me this as he put his paw gently to my cheek and dried my rivulet of tears, then he said "give it a rest bitch, it's just a game."
To make me smile today, I will go to the one person that is no-fail. Not Fatness, not Obama, not Joe Jonas, not Mr. Vicodin. The Sweener. The following are pictures from a lunch last Tuesday with Chris, G-ma, me and Sween.
I instructed her to show me her ice cream cone shirt whilst simultaneously giving me her best pouty model pose. She more than delivered.
We left for Taco Time (food of the Gods) where Sween and Mom insisted we wheelchair race up and down the sidewalk.
There were cute statues for a Sween to play on. This froggy was her fav.
She wasn't fond of Humpty Dumpty, couldn't get her near him. She was strangely drawn to him however, and kept wanting to go back and take a peek at him. She said to me "Humpty Dumpty is fussy." Sween calls em as she sees em.
His hands especially bothered her.
A warning to my readers, I suggest you look at these next photos as you would an eclipse, through a tiny hole, or else your retina's will burn from the piercing cute brilliance.
I do feel much better now.