Mr.B forgot to use his kickstand, again.
If only the ayurvedic spice water didn't taste the same every single damned day. Slurp. slurp. slurp.
Well, the only thing to do is bake a lemon cake.
Another question remains: Why is it that Mr. B cannot get himself out of bed in a timely manner on weekdays, yet come Saturday (the official day to sleep in), he is a rooster, up at the crack of dawn. Up and fiesty and creatively rearranging the house and his head. Harrumph.
GOOD GOD!!!! Mr. B has taken the liberty to cut and style his own hair! It's . . . . . . interesting. (as in how the hell are we going to fix this before Monday?)
The question remains: Why would anyone run a full bath, then get in with their rollerblades on? Only Mr. B know the answer to that, and he's not making a peep.
Ten minutes until Mr. B arrives home. Then all hell breaks loose.
