Mr. biscuit and I are visiting his parents for a desperately needed vacation. We’re indulging in good food (his mom is an excellent cook), booze (his dad is a wine fiend), relaxation, heated blankets(they live in the Frozen North), dumb TV shows (I watched Revenge yesterday and was glad to see that soap operas have found a comfortable place in primetime) and, in my case, my mother-in-law’s fabric room:
My mother-in-law is a serious quilter, and she’s got a whole entire room dedicated to fabric. Isn’t that awesome? I’m so fucking jealous.
But wait! There’s more:
I’ve been trying to get in some cardio while I’m here, so I’ve spent a lot of time in this room. You might notice the treadmill and the stairmaster-slash-torture device? Yes, I’ve been on those. I’m not proud. Actually, wait, I am. I am also achey. Anyway, though, I’ve spent a lot of time in this room, gazing ’round me at the piles and piles of fabric stacked up to the ceiling, and drooling while I was sweating, so when she said we should go shopping in her fabric room, I was SUPER excited. Excited like pee yourself excited. Excited like making embarrassing noises excited.
Here’s my pile of goodies. When it’s standing upright, it comes halfway to my knees. FOR FREE. I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED.