I SWEAR YOU CAN'T MAKE THIS STUFF UP

In case you haven't noticed, Dearies, I have been trying my level best to turn new leeeefs all over the place. I'm eating better, trying to take better care of my skin, turning of the iPad thingie, and saying YES to things that require me to leave the apartment.

JB signed us up for a pickleball clinic at a local racquet club, and when he mentioned it a month and a half ago I'm sure I said something like "Sure, Lovey. That sounds like fun".

But, because you know me, you also know that when he reminded me that we were going to said clinic this afternoon, I went into full on meltdown mode and stomped my feet and threw a fit and had a panic attack and did every damn thing I could think of not to go.

I rallied, however, and put on my big girl sweatpants and my big girl t-shirt and my big girl sweatshirt and found suitable shoes and socks and got on with it.

It was a lot of fun!

Me...

Rich...

and...

MY GYNECOLOGIST.

Yup. I just spent the last hour taking a pickleball clinic waiting for Dr Nancy to tell me to scoot my bottom to the very edge of the court and to just relax, and to check out at the front desk and make an appointment for a year.

Happy weekend, Dearies! I'm going to go pull the covers over my head for a minute.