Last night I was in a mood. I very much want to blame hormones, but I have no clue what's going on, since I haven't...er, fallen to the communists since I went off the Pill. I CAN tell you that my skin seems to think I'm sixteen again, as I'm breaking out, and either I'm retaining water or someone somewhere has made a voodoo doll in my likeness and is slowly inflating it with a bicycle pump.
Anyway, I came home, changed into some fetching capri sweatpants and a tee-shirt, and flopped into Jeff's arms.
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" I wailed.
Jeff stroked my hair. "You're so pretty," he said.
"You think I'm pretty right now?" I was incredulous.
He smiled. "I always think you're pretty."
"You think I'm just as pretty now as when I get dressed up and have clean hair and do not resemble a pepperoni pizza?"
He nodded. I paused.
"Then why do I even tryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" I cried, burrowing my face in his neck as he began to laugh.
Oh, I am just so manipulative.
P.S. Later on, largely due to Jeff's cheerleading, my mood improved. And since he finally joined Facebook, we e-flirted from approximately 20 feet away.
He's just the best.