Enough of the pity party, Mrs. Wookie. We're tired of it. Thanks.

So I could continue the mope-fest.  I could lose readers, because WHO WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR ISSUES, GING!  There are people with deployed hubbands to the Land of Sand, and you're bitching about boo-hoo I sit at home all day while Mr. Wookie flies around the Continental U.S.??  Suck it up, woman.  Keep up the house, give Mr. Wookie his slippers when he comes home from work, and make him a Scotch on the rocks.  And don't starve the Wookie.  It's not good for his health when he has to ask, "Where's my dinner?"

[not actually my class]

So this morning I hit up the Yoga in the Park that occurs on Wednesday.  Thanks Meetup.com for this other group that will keep me entertained while I'm a Betty Homemaker.  While it's mostly retired women, the instructor didn't worry about breaking their hips.  It was a nice stretch session since it's been AWHILE since I've graced my mat.  And I'm still slipping (dammit), so I'll be putting those yoga gloves to use next week.  Unless the weather doesn't cooperate.

And GOOD NEWS!  I've been invited out of the house by one of the Squadron Wives here.  This is exciting because this means I get to get out of the house.  Yay.

Maybe I should get up off my butt, make lunch, so I'm not munching on food on our way around town.  Because she's pregnant and her hunger pangs may bring her to murder.  Because those hormones are ruthless.  And I've learned to never cross a pregnant woman.  Unless I like Zombie-like gnawings.  Or stab wounds.