Pant. Ees.

So, despite the doctor telling Skye that if she traveled this week, the turbulence could dislodge her newly poked-at retina, she is now in sunny (I keed, I keed) Oregon, most likely shouting orders to Craig in a piratey fashion. (She actually isn't wearing the eyepatch anymore but I bet she got it out and put it on just so she could go, "Arrr! Look lively there, ye bilge rat!")

And I am now tasked with keeping the blog up to date until she unburies from the moving excitement. Also, I am tasked with writing the most embarrassing thing I can think of for Craig to read out loud to Skye, since she's not allowed to read anything with her own two eyes and therefore has to have Craig do it. Or whoever else is around. I was privileged to perform a dramatic reading of the pina colada recipe on the back of the pina colada mix at her goodbye soiree this weekend. (Skye, that's S-O-I-R-E-E. Did he pronounce it right?)

Anyway, I'm not very creative, and the only thing I can think of is to type "panties" a bunch of times, or perhaps talk about the many benefits of the tampon as opposed to the pad. But, really, ick, I don't want to talk about that any more than Craig wants to read it out loud to his sweetie.

Panties.

Panties.

Panties.