Frankenfinger

It is lunchtime, and I know you are all dying for something to be queasy about. I will refrain from reposting the barftastic legend that is the People of Walmart song. Instead, here are some photos of my metal alloy-reinforced metacarpal!

I know. I am practically Wolverine. The way my hair is looking right now, I'm grateful for pregnancy boobs so that people can tell us apart, even if they do feel like they were used as bumpers at a bowling alley. And hey, maybe someday the swelling will go down and I will again be known as a person having distinguishable hand knuckles. Or at the very least, having the pinky strength of Elliot Reid. These are days that I can not wait to witness.

In other news, husband and I encountered a juicy oddity at Albertson's last night on his quest for a gallon of v8. This is probably among the most informative of product labels I have read to date.

Juice Drink. In a blend with another juice. What juice? Ah, a mystery! But it seems like a good enough deal. You're getting double juices for one, after all. Maybe someday when they find a preventative medicine for diabetes, we'll drink it and let you know how it goes. I should probably post some awesome pictures/video of Monday's payette adventure, but the week is still half-young. And if I did, what else could you possibly look forward to here? So stay tuned for photos of me eating it in the sand and video of the greatest manpowered slip'n'slide of all time.