Soy or I am...

I am SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO sorry! I was going to post about how my eleven year old nephew tried to set me up and then my (then) four year old niece asked about my love life...all triggered by a book I was reading because I ended up with that most miraculous of all things>DOWN TIME...when lo and behold, GAS!

And no, not the kind that daily jumps a quarter, the kind that makes me jump and run to the bathroom. I am afraid that instead of SOY they gave me regular milk in my iced latte despite being asked three times by two different employees at one of my favorite cafes about whether it was soy or not.

So now I'm suffering a Montezuma's Revenge and cursing silently but mightily those who do not listen to answers nor orders. I ask for soy because I'M LACTOSE INTOLERANT NOT BECAUSE I'M IN A STATE OF BEING! For those of you who don't understand, soy in Spanish means I am.

Anyway, as soon as my intestines give me pause and I stop being reacquainted with the downstairs loo, I will post about the yenta-iness of my relatives and why I thought my mom was bad until Robbie and Jessie got in on the act.

'Til then.......be careful what you put in your mouth...may taste good but feel dreadful~~ later on. ;-P