Wince.

Yesterday: Why, I believe I've gone beyond the threshold of pain! I can run a marathon in these babies!

Today: Hobble, hobble, hobble, hobble.

Merk.

I think a boy who gives you flowers on special occasions definitely expects you to bear his children if you two get hitched.

Bleah.

I believe it's my turn to be persona non grata at work this week. At least I defended my turf, even if I had to do it with toothpicks.

Blub.

Get thee away from me, pretzels! I've consumed so much salt and retained so much water that I could challenge the Dead sea and win.

Aiiieee.

Two lesser known circles of hell in the Inferno are Team-Building Exercises and Group Projects, left out by Dante because they were too horrible to even contemplate.

Urf.

I thought I'd get my hair done for the concert later that evening. A machine washed my hair. A MACHINE washed my HAIR.

Boom.

KABLOOIE!