Good lawd, what a day.
Super-extra-mega apologies, but the Wednesday Advice Smackdown has been pre-empted until tomorrow because work is crazy and it's a friend's birthday and we have plans after work and then at some point I need to watch Lost and then I will need to go to bed. Don't send me hate mail.
Actually, none of you would send me hate mail, because you love me, apparently, and will kick the ass of any troll who dares dump a guilt-trip worthy of my mother on me.
For the record, the crazy speeding ticket email actually made me laugh, what with the specious logic that I was clearly someone who was also going to strap my newborn into a recalled car seat in the front passenger seat while putting on mascara in rush hour traffic. Yep, speeding is the gateway moving violation, kiddos.
(Type A added: you forgot that babalah is also holding your cigarette and drinking coffee all the while.)
Anyway, in summary: I love you all more than my brand-new Coach sunglasses. And that is more love than the human heart can ever fully understand.
But I'm still not doing an advice column today.
(OH! WAIT! I forgot! Britney is pregnant, y'all, along with me and Punky Brewster. And I'm obsessed with finding out her due date because I SWEAR TO GOD, she better not give birth on the same day as me, is all I'm saying.)
(Yes, the new greatest fear in my life, replacing all other anxieties about impending motherhood, is that my child will share a birthday with the Federfetus. THAT IS NO WAY TO START OUT IN LIFE.)