I’ve Lost My Ever Lovin’ Mind

head cut off I’m blaming the chemo farts*. Their toxicity has obviously begun to cloud my judgment. It has come to my attention that I have agreed to host a slumber party for Peanut’s 11th birthday.

In our home.

Because I smoke crack.

For (potentially) 9 tween-aged girls.

In our home.

Because I smoke crack.

Without my husband. (He was smart enough to make plans to take his chemo-farting butt out of here, along with Bug’s 12yo farting butt.)

Birthday Cake - Peanut

In our home.

Because I smoke the crack.

For 24 hours.

In our home.

Because. I. Smoke. The. Crack.

If my sister-in-law so much as ponders abandoning me, I will hunt her down with a car load of sugared-up, wild-eyed tweens and a roll of duct tape.

I will not be sinking on this boat alone.

She will be smoking the crack with my butt here to help me come hell or high water..

The pizza place is on speed dial. Cupcakes are ordered. Mini-Martha Peanut has the activities planned. Fun will be had or that Mason jar of chemo farts will be let loose on any party poopers.

*Okay, how funlarious is it that Wikipedia has an entry for farts? Huh? And how much more fun is it that I linked to it? Even more fun is the fact that I can guarantee someone is going to click on that link and read all about farts. Makes my damn day. I love you people.