Y'all.

The time has come for me to go to the midwives and find out what in the hell is wrong with my Mystical Lady Workings. What do you think they'll find in there? Fibroids? Bottlecaps? Pennies? Some old Doublemint gum with little bits of cigarette stuck to it? The IUD?

Feel free to organize a betting pool.

Meanwhile: we have a new serviceberry tree planted atop a dead chicken. Daphne does, as predicted, seem to understand that Something Serious Happened. And I am fine. Thank you.

Crotch Report upon my return. I know, I know. It's hard to wait but becalm yourselves while, I, um, be-clam myself?

Oh god I don't have time to make that work but there's something there, right?

Comments

[melissa oliviadrab of the warped girlynethers]

Beclam, Jo. Go forth to thine midwife and verily beclam. And hopefully they can unbeclam things?

Humor aside, luck be with you today.

[Sara]

Sorry about the chicken and the ladybits, in no particular order. Hope that one can be fixed, and that the other will rest in peace.

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