Biggy swears that I did not so much give birth to Georgia as that I divided myself in two, split into two versions of myself, each of whom can be called Tangia (pronounced Tonja). This morning we chatted briefly on the phone:
G: Greg's sick too?
T: Yeah, but of course he's sicker than I am. So I have to take care of him.
G: Of course.
T: This morning, he said, "I CAN'T miss work," and I said, "Sure, the WHOLE company is going to crumble if you're out one day. You are THAT important." He couldn't even sit up to take his Nyquil.
G: You know what I hate?
T: Where should I start?
G: No, I mean what I hate right now--what I'm thinking about.
T: You have to take a shower.
T: God, I hate showers. Nobody except you understands the whole getting wet thing.
T: The best part of taking a shower is drying off.
G: Exactly. And the worst thing ever is if I have to dry off immediately and get dressed. I need to sit for at least half an hour in my towel.
T: Because you can't really get dry. No matter how many times I wipe the back of my arms with a towel, they're still wet.
G: And under the boobs.
T: And under my ass cheeks. But yours haven't fallen yet.
G: Something to look forward to.
T: It's not just showers, either. I always think I want to take a long hot bath, and then I get in, and I immediately think, "Ew, it's wet. I need to dry off." I think I have a cat soul.
G: Or a Chihuahua soul.
T: But Fay always wants to get in the tub with me.
G: Until she does get in. Then she wants back out.
T: That's so true! She's just like us.
G: Anyway, I've GOT to go take a shower and get ready for work.
T: Thank god I don't have to take a shower today, because I'm sick.
G: Love you.
T: Love you too. We'll talk later.