Hi. I'm Sarah. And I'm an Aquarius and I really, really wanna be loved by you.

Well today's the day, the day I make all your dreams come true. But never mind that.

Today is also the day I have to start writing my two digit age with the number 3. To give you a better idea of the state of me and my environs, this week I have:

-consumed a bag of popcorn (snack size okay) and a can of Hansen's Vanilla Cola every night around midnight.

-stayed in my pajamas. Put jeans on once while in a motivated mood and decided it wasn't worth the loss of comfort. Put pajamas back on.

-bathed twice.

-stayed in my house. Only ventured out to throw a bag of dirty diapers outside the door.

-went braless, mostly because of the above mentioned hermit-ness (did you know it feels strange and irritating to have bosom support after nearly a week of being shackle free?)

- lost a lot of sleep because of a strange humming noise in my bedroom. The Husband says he can't hear it. I think he's working on some elaborate April Fool's joke to get back at me for last year.

-requested cheesecake.

-watched too much stuff on Hulu.

-decided most of T.V. is bad acting . . . but I watch it anyway to make me feel better about the split between Keira Knightley and Rupert Friend, therefore dashing all hopes she could one day be known as Mrs. Friend.

-requested cheesecake.

-rededicated myself to the eating of chocolate, after a brief moment of insanity.

-made peace with the universe. Bribery was involved. Universe likes flattery too.

-was reminded that with age comes wisdom. And I need that because usually I'm pretty dense. So bring it on! (the wisdom I mean)

-decided to embrace myself. Really. I gave myself a hug. It was dumb.

-heard Bosco say, "I love you Mommy" about thirty times. I don't think that number is a coincidence.

. . . and I'm still waiting on that cheesecake.

Have a lovely weekend my dear poopsies. I plan on starting this decade of mine off all supastar like, and also getting more smarter in the process.

They do exist.

I thought it pertinent to tell you that after the Husband read my post on facial hair and saw the self portraits I drew to demonstrate this follicle phenomenon, he eagerly critiqued me and said, “You’re not that hairy.”

“Not that hairy?” I rebutted. “I really hope that wasn’t you trying to give me a compliment because if that was your goal maybe you should have said something like…”

And then he cut me off and quickly interjected, “You’re not hairy.” And then if he had been wearing at top hat, he most surely would have tipped it in my general direction, bowed, clicked his heels together, mounted his trusty steed, then rode off while I stood there dumbfounded and made promises to myself to stay the course and not let this man woo me.

Well of course the Husband wasn’t wearing a top hat so none of that Darcy-esque material actually happened. But it was just a thought I had nevertheless, in that moment.

The moment where he actually was able to finish my sentence and fix his mistake, voluntarily. Up until now I thought that was something that only happened in romance novels or reality television.

This was revelatory my friends. He finished my sentence dear reader! Don’t you realize the magnitude, the significance of the event? It was my very own Jane Austen moment right there in my own living room, telling me that men have possibilities beyond what I heretofore assumed only to be fiction. My life is now complete.

Well done lad. We really have a connection, you and I. And next time I’m sure you’ll leave that that completely out of the mix. Because gentlemen never make the same mistake twice.