And then I fell on the ice again (bringing the score of Molly vs. Sidewalk to 0-2) and Buddy Holly asked me if I had any band-aids to which I responded, "no, I usually just tape some paper towel on my finger when I cut it making eggs."
Considering those two little factoids and the following photos depicting my secret domestic ineptitudes, I'd say my ego's about even for today. Manic-depressive? Surely not.
My apartment is cute, goddammit. You have to SEARCH for this shit. And I am not ashamed. Except maybe about scooping garbage out with my hands. Commence self-deprecation.