I like eggs, but I don't like the smell of them cooking (until they are done) or the smell they have as they are washing in the dishwasher. Bleah.
The same goes with ground beef.
I always like the smell of EVOO (extra virgin olive oil, for those who aren't in the know. like me). I like the smell of it cooking or straight from the bottle. It just smells good.
The same goes with shampoo. Except that I never cook shampoo.
On Tuesdays, I eat lunch with Silas and his class at school. I get asked a lot of interesting questions, like today when little Joshua said, "Hey, Mrs. Hill, do you want to see how I can flatten my cheeseburger to make a pancake?" Ugh. No, but thank you for checking. Also, if children ask you, "Mrs. Hill, do you want to see us race to see who can drink our milk the fastest?", the correct answer is "no", otherwise I cannot be responsible for what you see coming out a six-year old's nose and mouth.
I still have Vertigo symptoms. Annoying, annoying, ANNOYING. I'm almost ready to go to the Doctor. Almost. I loathe a co-pay. And taking medicine. And going to the doctor to have them tell me, "Yes, ma'am, I'm afraid you have Vertigo. There's really not much you can do about it, but thanks for stopping by. Will that be debit or credit?" Or, even worse, to have them tell me (like a doctor did ten years ago when I had inner-ear Vertigo in college), "This is what I want you to do. Sit down in a chair and vigorously shake your head back and forth and up and down for thirty seconds. Then, immediately stop and focus on an object in the room. Do this three times a day. This will re-train your brain to not have Vertigo." And also make me throw-up. A lot. It's torture. I did it the other night (sheer desperation), and then slept for twelve hours after I couldn't open my eyes from the migraine headache it produced.
So, that being said, I'm afraid I'm going to be one of those old people who has to tell you all of my aches and pains. I don't want to be that way. So, nix the previous paragraph, unless you already read it, then, um, I'm sorry. Just pray I don't get pregnant while I have a blog. You're in for it then. I'm not a pleasant pregnant person. Alternate personality takes over.
Yawn. Well, my goodness, it's 8:07pm and I'm pooped out. Off to bed.