Table 144

The good news is that this lovely 35 week old bubby is just fine and is measuring a few days ahead. Heck, checking on it meant that Mel saw the sun today! Hot damn! Poor thing; she never gets to enjoy the light of day. The lovely Cuban ultrasound tech gave us these reassuring words:

"Is fine. They is just jealous because you'll have this baby then put on your bikini again. They are just jealous; don't you worry. Is perfect. Muy perfecto. I'll be seeing you again very soon because you should have 10 babies. People like you should improve the race."

Oh my. So...Reassuring AND eugenicist. What an outing.

The bad news, and don't think I'm not embarrassed to admit it. Upon returning home, we discovered, irrevocably, beyond a doubt, that we have fleas.
Ew.
Ew.
Ew.

One appeared last weekend. The next day I saw one and Mel saw one. We vacuumed and pretended.

But today Mali's comfort chair was covered in little spiral flea dropping larvae as if someone took a pepper shaker to it. So we put the DDT collars on the cats against our better judgment and decided to curse whatever horror made us the dirty house. There will be boric acid covering every surface in the house before nightfall. Please, please, please send happy death vibes.

Mel has returned to bedrest on her itchy, infested bed. Freshly laundered, of course, but undoubtedly populated with the nests of thousands of tiny beasts waiting to resurface and make our lives hell for another life cycle. I hate Florida.