OOO Eee ooo ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang

My mother in law is asleep in our guest bedroom, with the lavender vanilla air freshener, the three-day old wildflowers and the only box of Kleenex in the house.

I am at my basement office desk with a throat so sore it makes me cry, blowing my nose into scraps of toilet paper. It's really nice toilet paper (Quilted!) but TP nonetheless. I hate to be sick, especially when there's company around. I want to be one of the Really Great Hostesses who makes omelettes every morning and serves them with homemade croissants and sliced berries. I have to prove to this lady that entrusting me with her only son was a fine idea, in spite of my "out of the ordinary" nature. Instead, I have insulted Oprah in front of our Pastor and run across the street from the church to the Rec Center in my Sunday clothes not once or twice, but three times. I laughed out loud in Sunday School. I couldn't help it. We first read the Bible verse that says any sacrifice we make for the work of the Lord will be repaid us tenfold in heaven. That went straight into the verse in Acts where Paul circumcises Timothy. Funniest. mental image. ever. My sister tells me that it is not good to "laugh about penises in Sunday School" and I know she's probably right. It's also doubly-good to not do so in front of someone you are trying to impress.

I now feel like all bets are off with the impress-ing thing, since my eyes are about swollen shut and I would undoubtedly be arrested in any roundup for Aqualung. She leaves Wednesday morning, and I've been surfing for home remedies that will pack a mightier wollop than benedryl and tea. No such luck, but I do have the Title song going through my head nonstop. This probably means I will be singing it in her presence, thus confirming her worst fears about any genetic contribution I would make to her grandchildren. I should probably just adopt, but that's a whole bunch more folks to impress.