Bad Words

If you're in the mood for a stress session, you should come on over to our apartment.

Poor Jay is in the throes of studying for finals. Which is definitely an "F" word around our place and should only be mentioned sparingly, in the quietest, sweetest of tones. Without fail, every semester, I somehow forgot how stressed he gets around this time (rightfully so of course) and I spend a few days walking around thinking "Gosh, why is Jay so mad at me?". Then he reminds me. Oh, right, finals. Oops.

Don't even mention the "B" word around Jay. Unless you want him to turn red, sweat, and pace around you saying "Why did you have to say that?". In case you're wondering what the "B" word is at our house . . . it's "bar". As in, the exam that Jay will have to take in the future. You can't say I didn't warn you.

Oh, and BONUS! We have to starting packing! Because we're moving! In a week. I'm scared. I've only pictured myself packing so far.

And apparently getting up off the sofa to get started but then laying down on the floor doesn't count. Shoot.