You are all a bunch of wimps, every last one of you. I tell you to be rude to me in honor of International Be Rude to Beth Day, and all I get is "oh no, we love you, you are so sweet and pretty and nice." Bunch a pansies. Yeah, and don't even bother trying to be rude now, the moment has totally passed.
It did entertain me how many of you assumed that the internet had been rude to me. Truth is, the internet hasn't been rude to me for weeks, at least as far as I know. Maybe, however, someone has started a Beth Sucks Blog that you all know about and read daily and are just too embarrassed to tell me about. Actually, I sort of hope that has happened, because that would mean I had really arrived and probably it would bring me a ton of new traffic.
Um, if anybody is having problems with the new layout, please feel free to let me know, although my likely response will be to switch to Firefox already, dammit.
Anyway, Mia had her 18 month check-up today and we learned that she is by far the most intelligent, advanced and beautiful 18 month old child to ever walk the earth, but we knew that already. The good news is that the Zit That Ate My Face had shrunk to concealable size by this morning. I mean, even with make-up you can tell that it is there, but it isn't the first thing you notice about me. The first thing you notice about me is probably the cream cheese smeared in my hair. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get cream cheese out of hair? I mean sure, I suppose I could shower, but that seems so drastic.
The Hotty Pediatrician really disappointed me today as he has spent the last two weeks on a tropical island somewhere (actually, I know where, I am just not telling you because I don't want you all stalking my Hotty Pediatrician) and he is not noticeably tan. This is disappointing because tan boy stomachs are hot. Unless they are hairy, in which case no amount of tan can redeem it. And no, I didn't think I would have occasion to see the Hotty Pediatrician's tan stomach, but I have a vivid imagination and could have extrapolated. However, no tan. This leads me to believe that either a) he is one of those boring people who spends a week at the beach cowering under an umbrella and 200 SPF sunscreen, like me, or b) he was not at the beach at all and rather needed to take two weeks off to prepare himself to see me again so he could gather the inner strength required to not confess his undying love and beg me to run away to a tropical island in front of my husband, which would just be tacky. (And I originally had a typo in this sentence which suggested that the Hotty Pediatrician wanted to bed me rather than beg me, and that would be really tacky to do in front of my husband.)
Oh! I recommended the Hotty Pediatrician to a friend of mine (for her kids, obviously, but also for the scenery) so if she goes to see him I will get her to report back to all of you on his hottyness. Unless she claims he is not a hotty, in which case I will call her crazy and pretend I never told you this. She would probably retaliate by telling the Hotty Pediatrician about my blog, which would be horrifying, but also just the impetus we need to get this relationship off the ground. Somebody has to make the first move, right? (Hi, Laura. Please don't tell the Hotty Pediatrician about my blog. Thanks.)
Um, um, um. I think I'm out. Kisses to all of you (with tongue, obviously).