Yesterday morning I woke and rambled into the bathroom to get ready for the day. I pulled my Bitch nightshirt over my head and faced the mirror to decide whether or not to wash my hair. My reflection made me laugh so hard I spit all over the mirror.
Must have been sleeping on my stomach, because sleep wrinkles of "Bitch. Bitch. Bitch." were impressed across my midsection. It looked like I'd been branded.
When I told Katie, she asked if I still believe in signs from God.
I mean that in the most loving way possible, of course.