The story of the bed that ate the cookies and the pizza that didn't call and order itself.

I have 9 minutes to write this post.

9 minutes until I have to run out to my car, drive my butt to my freezing cold apartment and hurriedly prepare dinner.

Why you ask?

The in-laws are coming! The in-laws are coming!

Okay, really, they don't care. I have awesome in-laws. I could order pizza. They would be amazed at superior calling-and-ordering-and-picking-up-abilities.

I am just holding myself to my own ridiculous sexier-Martha-Stewart-with-more-cookies-and-less-jail-time standards.

I am sad that I did not have time to make cookies this morning. Probably could have if I would have just gotten out of bed. But the bed was all holding me down and trapping me. I was suffocated by it's warm, friendly, affectionateness. I was seduced.

And now there are no cookies. My bed ate the cookies!

Yes. That is what I will tell them...

I typed the above in 2 minutes and then my brain started wandering around, shouting random things and I got distracted for 6 minutes.

So now it's time to leave. Bye!