DRAT

 

I'm pouting today, Dearies.

My Jersey Boy is on his way home to see his mom for her birthday, and what was supposed to be a pleasant little get away has turned into an epic....well...I just can't bring myself to say it, but let's just call it a....musterduck. 🦆

Plan one was that JB and I would head down to Indy for a lovely dinner at the St Elmo's, and then he would fly out the next morning and I would head back north to meet up with my Guild ladies for a Supper&Shop at the House of Stitches.

Nope.

Frontier Airlines decided to change everything all around, and instead of leaving on a Tuesday morning, JB had to switch to a Wednesday morning to avoid having to get to Philadelphia by way of Denver. 😖

So that meant I had to withdraw myself from the Supper&Shop fun, but we figured we'd still make a little trip of it and try a place called Hoagies and Hops on the way to the hotel airport, and then I could stop by the Keystone Crossing bookstore on my way back north the next morning.

Nope.

Mr Crohn's has decided to rear his ugly head once again, and I have been just sickety sick sick. Monday night was a total mess of trying to get my act together or find a rental car or change JB's plane to the train or cancel everything altogether, and by the time I fell into bed all teary and miserable, I was pretty sure JB would have happily WALKED to New Jersey if it meant he didn't have to listen to me whine and complain in between running to the powder room every fifteen minutes. 🙄

One call to the DoorDash later, I got myself some good 'ol liquid Imodium, I girded my loins, and decided to pull up my socks and britches (literally) and just get his a$$ down to Indy, spend the night, and get myself back home to the friendly confines of the big girl sleigh bed.

Nope.

You know I don't do anything without doctor supervision, so my BellyBean team had me get my TummyTeam on the phone, and Dr Manbeck decided that an early morning visit might be a grand idea.

So.

Instead of having a lovely little excursion to Indy, dinner at the St Elmo's, shopping with my Guild ladies, and a lovely relaxing kick-off to my Spinstercation, I had a frantic scramble to get presentable (i.e., get out of my pajamas and take a shower), more than a few prayers to the BVM that I wouldn't have any kind of accident for the next eight hours, and then a text to Aunt Chrissy asking if she might be able to drop everything and provide some adult supervision for her idiot big sister, because JB was terrified that in my Imodium-induced stupor, I would end up in Kokomo trying to break into a gas station restroom.

(Pause for sympathy).

Looks like I will now be heading over to the laboratory to pick up a kit to bring home with me to "collect some specimens" for testing. Since this is a family show, I won't go into details, but suffice it to say I am very happy that JB is 1,000 miles away and will not be witness to any of THOSE particular shenanagins.

All of that nonsense isn't the worst part, by the way.

As my sister and I were almost home (after having been in the car for seven hours), we were driving along the highway when I kind of noticed a car to my left with its windows down and my sister said "Oh no, we must have a flat or something because the people in that car are waving at you", and when I turned to look...there were my Guild ladies on their way home from the Supper&Shop, happily waving and laughing and having a wonderful time all together with what I presume to be lots and lots of new fun stitchy things from the House of Stitches shopping excursion that I didn't get to go to because Fronteir Airlines is a big fat jerk and no matter how hard I try to be nice to it, my body is determined to ruin all of my potential fun and then eventually kill me.

😐

So there you have it, Dearies. I'll keep you posted on the "developments" with Mr Crohn's and Co. and will get back to regular programming asap.

What's new with you? 😬