Drib. Drab.

I tried this because it said it was “created especially for adult skin”.

Yeah, that would work except I don’t have adult skin. I have teen-ager’s skin: a t-zone and zits.

Crazy thing is, I’ve tried other products from this manufacturer and I’ve hated them all. Glutton? Meet Punishment. My dear husband likes the creamy facial cleanser. He uses it on his backside when he gets chaffed from the heat. But don’t tell him I told you

I then tried this stuff. Thrilled, I tell you. A bit drying, but with an oil slick like I’ve got going on, I need all the tar-ball cleaning up I can get.

Sadly, every time I look at the name, I think of poor, dead Billy Mayes: “Don’t just get clean; get OXY clean!! *ssssnnorrrt*”

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So I bought a set of measuring spoons from Target a few weeks ago. Aitch broke my set while helping me make pancakes one morning. That girl is like a pink, tutu-wearing Hulk. She just doesn’t know her own strength! Just tonight, she was sitting on the couch watching a movie and nursing one of those take-n-toss sippy cups full of milk. All of the sudden, after being quiet to the point of almost nodding off, she gasped and jumped. I quickly figured out that she had somehow managed to pull the lid off with her teeth sending the cold milk right back into her face. I laughed at her, of course.

Anyhoo, Sparring Partner didn’t like the set I got so I had to return them. I handed the spoons and the receipt to the cashier at the customer service counter and she couldn’t get the scanner to recognize the bar code. She asked if I had a check from the account I purchased them with. Yes, but I told her I’m not giving her one just for that (I’m not tearing out one of my checks when she has the stupid receipt right in front of her). She said that she won’t be able to process the return since the receipt was so faded.

I didn’t say anything, but fumed quietly while she eventually keyed in the numbers from the receipt and handed me change, a bit snottily I might add. I was tempted to tell her that the receipt hadn’t “faded”. It was because there wasn’t enough ink in the register to give a quality print out. Not my fucking problem.

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I have another appointment with the plastic surgeon Wednesday. I’m hoping he’ll take the stitches out of my left foot even though he didn’t put them in. He’s kind of an asshole, before you assume that of course he would. I also am looking forward to getting the tagaderm off the back of my thigh covering the graft area. It sticks to the toilet seat and that’s a bit disconcerting if you think about it.

I’m still limping, but not as noticeably. I’m still quite squicked out when it’s time for changing the wound dressing and glad Sparring Partner is willing. He told me that he’s taking good care of it because he wants to be able to use my leg as a coaster once it heals. That and the ass-chaffing…wow. It’s hard to believe he’s allllll mine. Till death do us part and all that jazz, wouldn’t you know.