Brownies: The Cure For What Ails Ya

I am eating a brownie. A very large brownie. I'd take a picture, but since it is approximately the size of Nebraska, it is a teensy bit embarrassing.  Alright, already, it may look exactly something like this:



And, yet, if you knew the week I've had, you'd applaud me for the restraint I've shown.

Sunday marks the beginning of a new week. So the horror that was last week should be over. Here's to hoping that this new week holds much less of the aggravation and tears than last week presented.  The Ugly Cry is not meant to be a permanent expression.  On anyone's face.  Especially on mine.

I'm just sayin'

I may have mentioned in an earlier post about a tax refund we were getting. Well, Uncle Sam decided to reach down to the little people (in this case, the Jubilant household) in order to help himself spread the wealth to the even littler people (who refuse to work for a living) and yank that out from under us. Now, not only are we not getting a refund, but we owe. Because of a house we cannot sell and will probably get foreclosed upon anyway. 

All because we moved to a state where we can actually afford to live and work in.

I know it is terribly selfish of me to say, but if the Lord would hurry up this rapture thing, I'd be much obliged.

In other news, The Calm One has been fortunate to rack up a bit of overtime this past week.  His work rarely gives overtime pay.  They ask you to work over and make sure that it is 4 hours or less so that they can pay you in comp time instead of actual money.  Gotta love the loopholes.

This week, though, thanks to a compassionate supervisor, The Calm One was able to beat the system for a few hours of actual overtime pay.  Which we will not see until April, but are happy for it just the same.

Whirling Dervish has been quite the challenge lately.  I was going to call it a "phase," but it has lasted well over five months . . . I am at a loss as to what the appropriate wording might be.  Unfortunately my vocabulary has been reduced to things like

"You WHAT?!"

"Get In Your Room!"

and

"When your daddy gets home . . . !"

Ah the joys . . . at least there is a bite or two of brownies left.  Except, there has been an unusual amount of traffic to and from the kitchen in the last few moments . . .

Gotta GO!

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