I had a rough week last week.
Anything that could go wrong, did.
I had friends in a horrible situation, and was powerless to help.
I felt bad. I felt useless. I felt … just ick.
Then I started to feel queasy. Another thing went awry and it made me feel sick to the stomach.
“I feel queasy,” I told Grumpy Pants.
“Are you pregnant?” he enquired. Why, I have no idea, cos that’s just dumb.
Also, he’d said it in front of the kids; Monkey Boy loves babies and thinks we need another. Godzilla would like another four, or is it five? I can’t remember.
Before I could reply, Monkey Boy leaps up in excitement and says “Are you?!
