When one looks death square in the face and lives to tell about it, one would think one would have a better outlook on life, wouldn't one? Sort of like that Tim McGraw song. If you think I was kidding that I was convinced I had eyelid cancer, I actually wasn't. I was quite sure. Ask my husband or my mom or that receptionist at Northwestern who wouldn't give me a hasty appointment and who had to listen to me ad nauseam as I quoted research articles and such. I even asked my sister if she would take my kids after I died but then remembered that my husband would probably want them.
No, I'm back to busying my mind with superficial, trivial issues like: If I wait for the JCrew Final Sale to be announced, will they still have those white denim boot cut jeans in my size? If I buy them now, can I buy another pair when they go on sale and then return them using the first receipt or is that technically stealing?
So, I'm back, baby! (Eyebrow-less, but back.) Cracking on Denise, making my husband miserable and generally collecting debit points on my karma card. And The Bachelorette is on tonight! All is well.
PS -- Tim McGraw: Hot or Not?