Whew! Sorry about that, Dear Journal. I didn't mean to miss so many entries, but I've been feeling a little under the weather lately.
Bonnie hasn't improved much. She still looks a little pekid and feverish. A couple of days ago, she bit me. I must've startled her in the middle of some flu-induced hallucination. And she bit me. Then our cat Fluffy bit me. Then I bit Fluffy.
Bonnie's still not feeling very well, so we'll have to put off the trip to the BMW dealership until later in the week.
The cat has been acting strange all morning. Ol' Fluffy is looking a little, um, what's the word? Not "sluggish." What's that word? ...um, "bitten." Fluffy is looking a little bitten this morning.
Dinner at the Johnsons' was fun. Bonnie and I did get a little tipsy from the wine. I warned her, "hon, now don't get tipsy." But we did. We got tipsy.
It was just like the good ol' days at Sigma Kappa Delta Gamma Phi. Good times.
Bonnie said she's not feeling well, so I'd better go put her to bed. Too much wine.
Tomorrow we have to get up early to go to the BMW and get the biggest gas-guzzling SUV we can find. Hopefully, it will cost a lot and serve as a reminder to normal people how great we are.
I do so like golf. I played a round today at the club with Jim Johnson and John Jameson (from the office). Jim tried to take a mulligan on the 16th! What a scamp!
Bonnie and I are having dinner at the Johnson's tomorrow night. I think I'll bring a bottle of red wine. No, white. No, red. No...no...white. I hope we take small sips. Wouldn't want to get tipsy!
Well, I guess I'm just like everybody else. I'm a regular guy. I like football. I have a wonderful wife and a cat. Except now she's my zombie wife. And, uh, I'm her zombie husband. I gotta tell ya, I'm not keen on the whole thing. Nossir. Not at all. You ever try the horizontal mambo with your tenderbits all rotted and flayed? Not pretty.