Monday, April 30, 2007

What Made Me Me

I thought I was finally going to get the answer to “what does Me Me mean?” Instead, I got this. I don’t know what half of this stuff is that it talks about [cough cough], but it rhymed and I thought it was kind of cute, so I thought I’d pass it along.

Long ago and far away,
In a land that time forgot,
Before the days of Dylan,
Or the dawn of Camelot.

There lived a race of innocents,
And they were you and me,
Long ago and far away
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Oh, there was truth and goodness
In that land where we were born,
Where navels were for oranges,
And Peyton Place was porn.

For Ike was in the White House,
And Hoss was on TV,
And God was in His heaven
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We learned to gut a muffler,

We washed our hair at dawn,
We spread our crinolines to dry
In circles on the lawn.

And they could hear us coming
All the way to Tennessee,
All starched and sprayed and rumbling
in the Land That Made Me Me.

We longed for love and romance,
And waited for the prince,
And Eddie Fisher married Liz,
And no one's seen him since.

We danced to "Little Darlin'",
And Sang to "Stagger Lee"
And cried for Buddy Holly
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Only girls wore earrings then,
And three was one too many,
And only boys wore flat-top cuts,
Except for Jean McKinney.

And only in our wildest dreams
Did we expect to see
A boy named George, with Lipstick
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We fell for Frankie Avalon,
Annette was oh, so nice,
And when they made a movie,
They never made it twice.

We didn't have a Star Trek Five,
Or Psycho Two and Three,
Or Rockey-Rambo Twenty
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Miss Kitty had a heart of gold,
And Chester had a limp,
And Reagan was a Democrat
Whose co-star was a chimp.

We had a Mr Wizard,
But not a Mr T,
And Oprah couldn't talk, yet
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We had our share of heroes,
We never thought they'd go,
At least not Bobby Darin,
Or Marilyn Monroe.

For youth was still eternal,
And life was yet to be,
And Elvis was forever,
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We'd never seen the rock band
That was Grateful to be Dead,
And Airplanes weren't named Jefferson,
And Zeppelins weren't Led.

And Beatles lived in gardens then,
And Monkees in a tree,
Madonna was a virgin
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We'd never heard of Microwaves,
Or telephones in cars,
And babies might be bottle-fed,
But they weren't grown in jars.

And pumping iron got wrinkles out,
And "gay" meant fancy-free,
And dorms were never coed
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We hadn't seen enough of jets
To talk about the lag,
And microchips were what was left at
The bottom of the bag.

And Hardware was a box of nails,
And bytes came from a flea,
And rocket ships were fiction
In the Land That Made Me Me.

Buicks came with portholes,
And side show came with freaks,
And bathing suits came big enough
To cover both your cheeks.

And Coke came just in bottles,
And skirts came to the knee,
And Castro came to power
In the Land That Made Me Me.

We had no Crest with Fluoride,
We had no Hill Street Blues,
We all wore superstructure bras
Designed by Howard Hughes.

We had no patterned pantyhose
Or Lipton herbal tea
Or prime-time ads for condoms
In the Land That Made Me Me.

There were no golden arches,
No Perriers to chill,
And fish were not called Wanda,
And cats were not called Bill.

And middle-aged was thirty-five
And old was forty-three,
And ancient was our parents
In the Land That Made Me Me.

But all things have a season,
Or so we've heard them say,
And now instead of Maybelline
We swear by Retin-A.

And they send us invitations
To join AARP,
We've come a long way, baby,
From the Land That Made Me Me.

So now we face a brave new world
In slightly larger jeans,
And wonder why they're using
Smaller print in magazines.

And we tell our children's children
of the way it used to be,
Long ago, and far away
In the Land That Made Me Me.

-- Author Unknown

What is a crinoline?


Friday, April 27, 2007

Prayer Request

It’s been a challenging couple of weeks. As I said before, I’ve had it easier than many others.

A friend I went to school with lost her dad Wednesday. I know how difficult that is. A lady in my ministry lost a good friend to cancer yesterday. The oldest son of a woman I have been working with died last Friday.

Kate, from Rigel’s Wheel, had a friend undergo a mastectomy the other day. Her friend, Tracey, lost her mother-in-law a couple of weeks ago.

I have another friend dying from ovarian cancer. She is now in the care of hospice. And my aunt lives with tremendous pain from degenerative arthritis.

So if you wouldn’t mind, say a little prayer for them, along with anyone I missed and those you know; thank God for your health; and make sure your loved ones know how special they are to you.


Wednesday, April 25, 2007


…I know what’s wrong with me! And thank goodness!

I received this from a friend in Colorado. Read it carefully and see if it might apply to you, also.

AAADD – Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder

This is how Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder manifests itself:

I decide to water my garden.

As I turn on the hose in the driveway, I look over at my car and decide my car needs washing.

As I start toward the garage, I notice that there is mail on the porch table that I brought up from the mailbox earlier.

I decide to go through the mail before I wash the car.

I lay my car keys down on the table, put the junk mail in the garbage can under the table, and notice that the can is full.

So, I decide to put the bills back on the table and take out the garbage first.

But then I think, since I’m going to be near the mailbox when I take out the garbage anyway, I may as well pay the bills first.

I take my checkbook off the table, and see that there is only one check left.

My extra checks are in my desk in the study, so I go inside the house to my desk where I find the can of Coke that I had been drinking.

I’m going to look for my checks, but first I need to push the Coke aside so that I don’t accidentally knock it over.

I see that the Coke is getting warm, and I decide I should put it in the refrigerator to keep it cold.

As I head toward the kitchen with the Coke, a vase of flowers on the counter catches my eye—they need to be watered.

I set the Coke down on the counter, and I discover my reading glasses that I’ve been searching for all morning.

I decide I better put them back on my desk, but first I’m going to water the flowers.

I set the glasses back down on the counter, fill a container with water and suddenly I spot the TV remote. Someone left it on the kitchen table.

I realize that tonight when we go to watch TV, I will be looking for the remote, but I won’t remember that it’s on the kitchen table, so I decide to put it back in the den where it belongs, but first I’ll water the flowers.

I pour some water in the flowers, but quite a bit of it spills on the floor.

So, I set the remote back down on the table, get some towels and wipe up the spill.

Then I head down the hall trying to remember what I was planning to do.

At the end of the day:

The car isn’t washed, the bills aren’t paid, there is a warm can of Coke sitting on the counter, the flowers don’t have enough water, there is still only one check in my checkbook, I can’t find the remote, I can’t find my glasses, I don’t remember what I did with the car keys.

Then when I try to figure out why I got nothing done today, I’m really baffled because I know I was busy all day long and I’m really tired.

I realize this is a serious problem, and I’ll try to get some help for it, but first I’ll check my e-mail.

Do me a favor, will you? Send this message to everyone you know, because I don’t remember to whom it has been sent.

Don’t laugh—if this isn’t you yet, your day is coming!

What I haven’t quite figured out yet is, if St. Flo, Nurse Ratchet, Dorie, Our Lady of Perpetual Memory Loss, and Ms. Denial are all doing this running around all day long, why aren’t we losing weight????


Monday, April 23, 2007

NOW I Get It

Much of what my favorite CWO sends is educational in nature. I appreciate the way he can explain things in simple terms. For example:

One day a florist goes to a barber for a haircut. After the cut he asked about his bill and the barber replies, "I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week." The florist is pleased and leaves the shop.

Next morning when the barber goes to open his shop, there is a thank you card and a dozen roses waiting for him at his door.

Later, a cop comes in for a haircut, and when he goes to pay his bill the barber again replies, "I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week." The cop is happy and leaves the shop.

Next morning when the barber goes to open up there is a thank you card and a dozen donuts waiting for him at his door.

Later a Republican comes in for a haircut, and when he goes to pay his bill the barber again replies, "I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week." The Republican is very happy and leaves the shop.

Next morning when the barber goes to open, there is a thank you card and a dozen different books, such as "How to Improve Your Business" and "Becoming More Successful."

Then a Democrat comes in for a haircut, and when he goes to pay his bill the barber again replies, "I cannot accept money from you. I'm doing community service this week." The Democrat is very happy and leaves the shop.

The next morning when the barber goes to open up, there are a dozen Democrats lined up waiting for a free haircut.

And that, my friends, illustrates the fundamental difference between left and right.

See what I mean?


Thursday, April 19, 2007

The ER Experience

There I was, sitting at my computer desk, minding my own business, reading blogs. Ambulance Driver’s blog, to be exact—the post about Beefy McWorm. Now tell me you didn’t just about die laughing when you read that!

Out of nowhere, my jaw starts feeling funny. Then my chest starts feeling funny. Hm. Well, I haven’t had anything to eat, and it doesn’t feel like indigestion, so we’ll just see what happens. Five or ten minutes later, it’s still there, so I go tell Hubby my chest feels weird. He jumps out of his chair and says, “let’s go!”

Didn’t I just read somewhere that if you have chest pain, you’re not supposed to call your doctor or let your husband drive you? You’re supposed to call 9-1-1.

Yeah well, it’s not chest pain. (Ok, you were right, AD. Ms. Denial was there.) Besides, what kind of nurse would I be if I did what I was supposed to do?

So I leave a message for the doctor on call, then get dressed; grab my insurance card and a book. After another five or ten minutes, the doctor hasn’t called back.

Ok, I’m only mid-forties, but we read all the time now how symptoms of a heart attack can be totally different for women. And, major history of heart disease in my family, the most significant being the death of my dad at 57. So nawwww, I don’t think I’ll wait for the doctor.

But it’s still not chest pain or really a heart attack, so I’m not calling an ambulance. So Hubby drove me to the hospital.

Guess what? Those people in the ER don’t care what you call it, because I told them it wasn’t chest pain, it was chest discomfort. Didn’t matter. They parked my butt on a gurney, plugged me in to a cardiac monitor, took my vitals, got an EKG and a portable chest x-ray, started me on oxygen, drew my blood and started an IV. I told the doc I didn’t need an IV. She didn’t care. The nurse wants to know if I have a vein preference. “No.” So he asks if the antecubital would be ok. “Sure, you’re gonna be taking it out in a little while anyway.”

In retrospect, that was stupid. I have huge veins. Even AD, who says he’s only average, could have started an IV in my hand. Good grief, it was a baby catheter, only a 20 gauge. Why waste a perfectly good 16/18-gauge vein with a 20?

I didn’t need the oxygen, either; my sat level was just fine. Who would think to bring a book along to pass the time if they were oxygen deprived?

Anyway, I was in the ER for maybe a total of about three hours, not long, really. But I was glad I brought my book. EKG was fine, cardiac enzymes were normal, potassium was low, so they gave me a pill. When they conferred with all the docs, it was agreed that I should stay overnight for observation, draw more labs, and possibly do a stress test the next day.

Great. Can I have some Tylenol, please? No chest pain, but y’all have given me a headache.

Later: The in-patient experience I could have done without.


Tuesday, April 17, 2007


I had to spend Sunday night at the hospital. It was merely for observation, but I wasn’t pleased. It was my nurse that told us about the shootings at Virginia Tech on Monday. Now my discomfort seems pretty trivial.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon them. May they rest in peace.
Merciful Lord Jesus, grant them everlasting rest.

Heavenly Father, bring comfort to the families and friends that have suffered a loss in this tragedy. Give courage and wisdom to the leaders as they take action in response to the devastating loss of life. In your mercy, help us all as we try to make sense of the senseless; show us hope for peace and consolation. Amen.


Friday, April 13, 2007

Spoiled Little Bitch

Six months ago, we came home from Mass one Saturday to find PJ and Harley (the outside dogs) barking at something. I went on inside the house while MFD went to see what all the fuss was about. Pretty soon I hear her yelling for me to come downstairs. She’s standing at the back door, holding a beautiful, but filthy, Sheltie.

Well, what else could we do but bring her inside?

Yep. And that was my undoing.

She was covered in mats and burrs and ticks. She was so tangled in areas that I had to cut it out, and she laid there on her back just as calm as could be. She was such a good little girl.

Of course I did the right thing. Called vets and clinics, talked to neighbors, put up signs. She even came with a rabies tag from a city clear up on the north side of the metro area. Nothing.

So after two weeks, we named her Ellie and she became MINE.

It took her no time at all to learn where she was supposed to go to do her business. She barked when she wanted something. If it was wet outside, she would sit and offer you her front paws, one at a time, to be cleaned off, then she would stand so you could do the back. She never complained about a bath and sat so patiently when I clipped her nails.

We found out early she liked to go bye-bye. She jumped right in the back and made herself comfortable. Unless the front seat was empty--then she would come sit up there with me. So she went with me every day to take the girls to school. As long as I wasn’t going to be gone somewhere for long, like grocery shopping, she went everywhere with me. She went to Lovi’s for Halloween. She even went down to Hubby’s mom’s farm for Thanksgiving and Easter, and to Hollyb and her DB’s for New Years.

Hubby’s mom said she hoped Miss Ellie knew she was already in doggie heaven because she had found a home with us. His mom has said before that when she dies, she wants to come back as one of my pets!

If I had to leave her behind, she would get so excited when I returned. Jumping up and down like a circus dog on a pogo stick, yipping and yelping like she was saying “Oh, you’re home, you came back, you didn’t leave and forget about me!”

She loved attention, and when we moved over to the main house, she followed me around wherever I went. While we were building, if I let her outside and I had to go over to the new house, she would go all the way around to the other side of the house to get in through the garage, then she’d come straight over to where I was.

She and the cats have taken awhile to adjust to being on the same floor in the same house. Slowly but surely. One morning, Hubby and MFD left early while I was still in bed. There goes Ellie, click click click click of the toenails on the tile, when she hears the garage door go up. Seconds later, click click click click, then she lands in bed with me—because the cats were right behind!

She was a great little watchdog. She’d start barking before PJ and Harley did if someone was coming down the drive, so I called her “my vicious guard dog.” It took her a little while to be comfortable with strangers, but eventually she’d let them pet her. But even when Hubby and MFD were around, she preferred to be with Mama. She was one spoiled little bitch.

Tick season is upon us, so while Harley was at the vet’s yesterday, I took the opportunity to get the other two checked out, update their shots, and get their tick and heartworm medication.

When it was Miss Ellie’s turn, I asked the vet to see if she had a microchip, just to be sure. If I had lost her, I’d want her returned, so it would only be fair to see if someone had registered her.

She had a chip, and my stomach dropped.

The vet wrote down the info on the chip and gave me the number to the company, and said she’d leave it up to me whether to call or not.

Well what else can I do? I had to see if someone had spent the time and money to register her, or I couldn’t have lived with myself.

So I called. She was registered. The guy took my name and number and address. Then I started crying.

Minutes later I get a call from her owners. They’re in the area, and want to know if they can come get her in half an hour. No, I’m sorry, this is my dog now and you can’t have her. I’m crying the whole time and the lady asks if I’m ok. “No.” Of course I’m not ok, you’re coming to take my dog. She said she was sorry, she knew it was easy to get attached to “Lacy.” Well duh. How’s about we give you a cigar? You aren’t sorry, you’re gonna have the dog, MY dog.

So we go outside to wait. They get here, and my vicious guard dog barks at the car. But after they got out and called her name and she figured out who they were, she got excited.

Turns out they were out of town in October, and their son was keeping Lacy and her sister, Sophie. One minute Lacy was across the road, playing with another small dog, the next she was gone.

They told me she had just turned six in March, which was younger than the vet estimated—ten. The two dogs liked to go for rides in the guy’s white Miata, with the top down, to get ice cream.

They were a nice couple, maybe in their 50’s or 60’s. I knew from her behavior she had been well cared for, and must have been loved. So I couldn’t blame them.

Now the fargin’ icehole of a son is a different story. Is he blind, that he didn’t see the signs I had put up? No way he could have missed them. And it appears Lacy was on her own for almost two weeks before she landed here.

So I’m pi$ed and upset and I want my dog back. MFD didn’t take it well, either, especially since the dog was gone by the time she got home from school. “I know it’s hard, dear, but you’d want someone else to do the same thing for us if it was our dog” just doesn’t cut it.

Sometimes it just friggin’ SUCKS to do the right thing.

I miss the clicking of her toenails.Flo

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Give That Man a Cee-gar

As I was getting ready to write this yesterday, I noticed one of our dogs (Harley) was staggering around, then could barely stand. We took him to the vet and he ended up spending the night for a possible spinal injury. I brought him back home today and he’s doing fine. More on the mutt in a later post.

Jason Whitlock is a sports journalist here in my neck of the woods. He does call them like he sees them, and I think he hit the nail on the head on this one. I knew there was an uproar, but I missed, then ignored, the story until someone sent this to me.


Posted on Wed, Apr. 11, 2007


Imus isn’t the real bad guy

Instead of wasting time on irrelevant shock jock, black leaders need to be fighting a growing gangster culture.


Thank you, Don Imus. You’ve given us (black people) an excuse to avoid our real problem.

You’ve given Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson another opportunity to pretend that the old fight, which is now the safe and lucrative fight, is still the most important fight in our push for true economic and social equality.

You’ve given Vivian Stringer and Rutgers the chance to hold a nationally televised recruiting celebration expertly disguised as a news conference to respond to your poor attempt at humor.

Thank you, Don Imus. You extended Black History Month to April, and we can once again wallow in victimhood, protest like it’s 1965 and delude ourselves into believing that fixing your hatred is more necessary than eradicating our self-hatred.

The bigots win again.

While we’re fixated on a bad joke cracked by an irrelevant, bad shock jock, I’m sure at least one of the marvelous young women on the Rutgers basketball team is somewhere snapping her fingers to the beat of 50 Cent’s or Snoop Dogg’s or Young Jeezy’s latest ode glorifying nappy-headed pimps and hos.

I ain’t saying Jesse, Al and Vivian are gold-diggas, but they don’t have the heart to mount a legitimate campaign against the real black-folk killas.

It is us. At this time, we are our own worst enemies. We have allowed our youths to buy into a culture (hip hop) that has been perverted, corrupted and overtaken by prison culture. The music, attitude and behavior expressed in this culture is anti-black, anti-education, demeaning, self-destructive, pro-drug dealing and violent.

Rather than confront this heinous enemy from within, we sit back and wait for someone like Imus to have a slip of the tongue and make the mistake of repeating the things we say about ourselves.

It’s embarrassing. Dave Chappelle was offered $50 million to make racially insensitive jokes about black and white people on TV. He was hailed as a genius. Black comedians routinely crack jokes about white and black people, and we all laugh out loud.

I’m no Don Imus apologist. He and his tiny companion Mike Lupica blasted me after I fell out with ESPN. Imus is a hack.

But, in my view, he didn’t do anything outside the norm for shock jocks and comedians. He also offered an apology. That should’ve been the end of this whole affair. Instead, it’s only the beginning. It’s an opportunity for Stringer, Jackson and Sharpton to step on victim platforms and elevate themselves and their agendas.

I watched the Rutgers news conference and was ashamed.

Martin Luther King Jr. spoke for eight minutes in 1963 at the March on Washington. At the time, black people could be lynched and denied fundamental rights with little thought. With the comments of a talk-show host most of her players had never heard of before last week serving as her excuse, Vivian Stringer rambled on for 30 minutes about the amazing season her team had.

Somehow, we’re supposed to believe that the comments of a man with virtually no connection to the sports world ruined Rutgers’ wonderful season. Had a broadcaster with credibility and a platform in the sports world uttered the words Imus did, I could understand a level of outrage.

But an hourlong press conference over a man who has already apologized, already been suspended and is already insignificant is just plain intellectually dishonest. This is opportunism. This is a distraction.

In the grand scheme, Don Imus is no threat to us in general and no threat to black women in particular. If his words are so powerful and so destructive and must be rebuked so forcefully, then what should we do about the idiot rappers on BET, MTV and every black-owned radio station in the country who use words much more powerful and much more destructive?

I don’t listen or watch Imus’ show regularly. Has he at any point glorified selling crack cocaine to black women? Has he celebrated black men shooting each other randomly? Has he suggested in any way that it’s cool to be a baby-daddy rather than a husband and a parent? Does he tell his listeners that they’re suckers for pursuing education and that they’re selling out their race if they do?

When Imus does any of that, call me and I’ll get upset. Until then, he is what he is — a washed-up shock jock who is very easy to ignore when you’re not looking to be made a victim.

No. We all know where the real battleground is. We know that the gangsta rappers and their followers in the athletic world have far bigger platforms to negatively define us than some old white man with a bad radio show. There’s no money and lots of danger in that battle, so Jesse and Al are going to sit it out.

To reach Jason Whitlock, call (816) 234-4869 or send e-mail to For previous columns, go to

Monday, April 09, 2007

Whimsical Reflections...

…aka Random Thoughts:

We had a very nice Easter, hope you did, too. We were with Hubby’s mom at her farm. Went to Mass and she had a wonderful meal for us when we got home.

Thanks to Gay Cynic for the computer link, I’ll check it out. I think I’ve welcomed you before, but if not, thanks for the visit and note.

Welcome also to Kimberly, who has left a couple of comments, too. Hope you get settled in soon, ain’t military life grand? I don’t think I could do all the moving around involved with Active Duty; you’re a strong woman.

Lately, I feel like all I’m doing is trying to catch up. Not that I ever will. I surely would like to know how people can read blogs, write a blog, work full-time, travel, and have a life. Maybe I need to have a talk with myselves and tell them they’re going to have to start sharing and multi-tasking. There just isn’t enough of me and the day to go around.

Ambulance Driver made a comment on his blog last week about bloggers and their readers getting to know each other. I may not be a good judge of character when it comes to someone I haven’t met in person, but I do feel like a lot of us are family. And heaven help someone that makes a derogatory comment about that family. Especially an “anonymous” someone. A while back, someone commented at LawDog’s site that “I bet your mother’s proud.” And it wasn’t a compliment. I wasn’t the only one offended and that became quite clear. I have made an occasional comment that I regret, but if someone wants to call me on the carpet, at least they’ll be using my name. One of them, anyway.

By the way, I am also Tickled Pink to still be one of Ambulance Driver’s daily reads after he reorganized things over there. Did you know there used to be a wine called Tickled Pink? Yep, back in my sophisticated days as a flight medic, I used to drink it straight from the bottle. I’d probably upchuck if I ever smelled it again. Is that what we mixed with beer? Or was it Strawberry Hill?

Those pilots were such a bad influence.

Ok, I think I’m done rambling for now.


Friday, April 06, 2007

Happy Sweet Sixteen

Sixteen years ago, at 2235, My Favorite Daughter (ok, so she’s the only daughter—same with My Favorite Son) was brought kicking and screaming into this world at Arlington Memorial Hospital.

She caused me grief from the very beginning.

The doctor came in to my room the next morning to tell me MFD had spent the night in the Special Care Nursery because she had Transient Tachypnea of the Newborn (TTN), etiology unknown. That meant her breathing was fast on occasion, and they didn’t know why. However, the possible causes were serious, and I think my brain shut down by the time he started talking about those.

After several extra days in the hospital and four months on a cardiopulmonary monitor with only a rare false alarm, it was my opinion that because she was being difficult (as usual, I have come to find out after 16 years) and was born “sunny side up,” she just didn’t get the stuff squished out of her lungs and it took a little time for her to get over it.

She’s grown into quite the awesome young lady. Challenging at times, but bright, talented, caring, and beautiful.

This morning I gave her a small rose arrangement and a card, just from Mom. When I was young, my mom gave each of us girls a yellow rose when we turned 13, and a red rose when we turned 16. So I’m sort of carrying on the tradition.

She and her dad joined my friends and I for our regular Friday morning breakfast. Then she had an appointment to get her hair cut, and practice for the school musical.

THEN, her dad took her to the license bureau. She got a 94%. [sigh] The streets will no longer be safe. Be on the lookout for a gold Mazda Protégé.

We’ll be going to Red Lobster for dinner, then home for ice cream, cake, and presents.

Then I think I’ll be going to bed to cry cuz my baby’s growing up.

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl.


Thursday, April 05, 2007

Public Service Announcement

Yes, the computer is back, but it lost it's mind. The hard drive went Tango Uniform and everything on it went to the Big CPU in the Sky. I sure hope someone up there enjoys the pics of MFS's HS graduation and the construction progress, the e-mails from Hubby while he was in Iraq, and the everything else from the past two years of my life that was stored there.

Flo, can you say "back up?"

Why yes, NOW I can.

Fortunately, I've been much too busy to be horribly devastated.

Things still aren't quite back up to speed, but I had to take a moment to inform you of an important event. I'd feel terrible if you missed out on it because you didn't know.

Saturday, 7 April, is No Housework Day.

You're welcome. Don't say I never did anything for you.