Friday, I'm In Love

Here we are: Friday afternoon. But this isn't just any Friday, it's St. Patrick's Day. Shamrocks, leprechauns, and HOLY CRAP!!! I just spelled leprechauns right. What's with that "h" up in there, anyway? The luck 'o the Irish must be with me.

Today was the day my unborn child was supposed to make his appearance, but, like his mother, he is late. (And I'm okay with that, by the way. She was worth the wait and he will be, too.)

What I'm NOT okay with is the amount of pizza I ate today for lunch. I don't know what it is, but when I get those triangular slices of cheesy goodness in front of me all self-control takes a back seat to my insatiable appetite for pizza. My stomach feels like a mid-sized backpack that has seven pairs of thick, cotton sweatpants of various colors shoved into it. This may be similar to what my dear wife has felt like for the last few months, what with her being pregnant and all.

Oooh. That's a good excuse when she asks me why I'm not hungry for dinner. "Oh, I was just trying to get a better feel for what you are going through right now, baby. So I ate half a pepperoni pizza." I think she'll buy it.