Luxolive.
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Meet Chewbacca
I am obsessed with pub trivia. Well, not really obsessed, as I just managed to take a painless month plus sabattical. But, I love it. Lurve it. Want to have ten million of its babies. Etcetera. Anyway, so my team qualified for the finals, and they are tonight. One of our most useful members, my brilliant husband, is sick. What are we going to do? Suck? We're okay without him, but honestly, he's where useless knowledge comes to rest. His brain makes nests out of shit like Lucy and Linus's last name and names of aboriginal techniques for staying warm at night. I'm honestly shocked at the stuff that comes out of his head at these things. Anyway, without him, we will be handicapped. Sorry, I mean differently abled. Or do I? Why am I still typing? So, my husband is sick. Well, recovering. I hate it when he's sick. I just want to leech the pain from his boady and be sick for him, and I hate that I can't do that. I don't know if it was a virus or food poisoning or what, but it was ugly. Poor guy. Meet Chewy
He's so silly. He's pretty uninterested in us, but he's nice to have fluffing around. I miss lap kitties, though.
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