This weekend all I did was study. Like, really study. Not just say I was studying to avoid doing laundry. I logged in so many hours studying, and even less hours than usual sleeping, that Sunday afternoon Ethel told me I looked horrible. Only love can be that brutally honest. Hubs also had to learn to find the bags under my eyes sexy. Or at least he better 'cause they ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon. And those vows he took? Yeah, he's totally stuck with me AND my bags. (Am I the only one that hears that evil laughter?)
Sunday night I was working on a paper where I had to diagnose case studies as either deviant, dysfunctional, or dangerous behavior. One of the case studies was of someone who had dropped out of college.
My answer:
Dropping out of college would be a good decision if you were dead or shot in the head. Or if you were assaulted by your pud-ass teacher. Or you were in an abnormal psych class that asked stupid questions. But not just to be famous.
The Proofreading Hubs told me that was not an appropriate answer. I rewrote it. But frankly, I liked my answer and I may or may not have thrown a little temper fit before I rewrote it.
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