Of asshats and little men

In this case, he's one and the same. The torturous two-year-old on a mission form his master, Legion, to destroy my sanity, one paltry braincell at a time. The only thing I want do do now is sit on the sofa, eat cheese curls and male Hershey's bars, and fondle yarn, and I think maybe I overdid the dose of my medication. However, little dude-person was hollering and screeching for a "ba" (we ran out of formula powder and thought we'd have a go at weaning him off the sauce) and it was nearing the breaking point for me. 'Boris' is off at work still, so he missed a lot of "quality time" with his spawn today. Lucky for me I keep Mommy's little helper handy, and while I can't feed it to him, I can eat all I want of them and then just giggle at his meltdown, from a fuzzy, happy corner of my brain. He, too, is now content with cheese curls, so I'll bid you adieu. I have to stagger over to the living room now. This heavily medicated post about nothing in particular was brought to you by the letter M, because Melly thinks I've been a lazy blogger. Perhaps she'll find a way for me to post from the shop tomorrow. I'm bringing the camera, Miss M... you just bring that big brain of yours, k? smooches to y'all. I can't feel my front teeth...