I just spent three and a half hours feeling light-head and vomity at a business dinner with a dude from Ohio who wanted to enjoy the 87 degree evening heat on the patio of a Palm Beach restaurant ...
Guess who was vurping the whole time the sweat was trickling down her back, her pants were giving her ass a heat rash, her pits were drowning in their own juices?
Hey what a great idea! Let's do pan-fried mussels for appetizers! A bottle of tepid red Amoroso wine? Okay. Mmmm...steaming hot fish with wilted spinach and dried out carrots! Dessert? Why the fuck not?! Molten Chocolate Cake? Uh-huh. Oooh yes, let's have hot coffee with that! Could the waiter take any longer with the bill? I'm not sure.
It'll be a miracle if I'm not dead in the morning from fucking dehydration.
To top of my steaming pile of poo dinner, I had to come home to a vocally angry, starving cat who gobbled down her dinner so fast that it came up two minutes later at twice the speed. She was actually sitting on one of our 18" floor tiles and managed to lob her sick up and over to the middle of the next tile. I took a picture of the resulting pool. It was a lot of chum. Maybe I'll post it in the morning, but I may think better of it...I don't want to cause a Blueberry Eating Pie Contest Chain Reaction.