Mr. Darcy is the hit of my pants*

I woke up early this morning to Max crawling ACROSS JOE'S FACE so he could hide his face between our pillows. Normally these kinds of shenanigans would get Max kicked off the bed POST HASTE but it was thunderstorming and he was scared and COME ON, how could I possibly force him off the bed when his sad little scared face was trembling nose-to-nose with mine. Joe and I tried to go back to sleep, but it didn't really work because Joe was pretty much forced to the very edge of the bed and the only way I could make myself comfortable was to spoon Max but he kept hitting me in the chin with his head whenever there was thunder and OW.

So my point is, I'm tired today. I mean, I had already stayed up past my bedtime because I wanted to watch Mr. Darcy win an Oscar, so I wasn't planning on waking up an hour and a half earlier than my alarm. YAWN.

In other news, I got this love letter the other day:

Dear Beloved,

This letter may come to you as a surprise due to the fact that we have not yet met. Firstly, I have to say that I have no intentions of causing you any pain. My name is Mr. Moore Edwards, a European merchant. I have been diagnosed with Prostate and Esophageal cancer that was discovered very late due to lack of caring for my health. It has defiled all form of medicine and right now, I have only about a few months to live according to medical experts. I have not particularly lived my life so well, as I never really cared for anyone not even myself but my business.Though I am very rich, I was never generous, I was always hostile to people and only focus on my business as that was the only thing I cared for. But now I regret all this as I now know that there is more to life than just wanting to have or make all the money in the world. I use to say to my self that if God should give me a second chance I would live differently from how I have lived. I was meditating on my hospital bed and something told me that Go

Hence, I do not trust them anymore, as they seem not to be content with what I have left for them.The last of my money which is a huge cash deposit that I have with a security firm will be put in your care if only you will agree and are capable of seeing this through. I want you to help me collect this deposit and dispatched it to charity organizations of your choice and let them know that it is I Mr.Moore Edwards that is making this generous donation. I am writing this from my laptop computer in my hospital bed where I wait for my time to come. I pray for you to support and assist me with a good heart. I hope we can build a relationship based on trust because I want to do this by all means possible before I die.But the choice is yours Please you can contact me through this email address: mooreedwards1@aol.co.uk

Be blessed my beloved,
Mr.Moore Edwards

For some reason, it was delivered to my spam folder. Which is weird because why would my beloved send me spam? In any case, feel free to email him. It sounds like he could use a pick-me-up.

*When my friend Amy and I were but wee little college freshman, we read Bridget Jones's Dairy and Pride & Prejudice, like, a million times, and then saw BJD in the theater, like, a million times, and went on an epic journey to, like, a million stores just to find the P&P mini-series that made Colin Firth such an object of DEEP, DEEP DESIRE. To say we were merely obsessed with Mr. Darcy is an insult to our level of obsession.

Anyway, one night, after drinking too much, we sent emails to practically everyone we knew (drunk emailing is way more entertaining than drunk dialing, trust me) and in one email, we said both "Mr. Darcy is a hearthrap," and "Mr. Darcy is the hit of my pants." Thank you, Stephanie, for reminding me of this. GOOD TIMES.