Tuckered

I spent the entire night last night running from zombies and serial killers.  I'm plumb tuckered.  The lesson here is that I've either got to A) get a man in the bed with me, or B) stop watching TV. 

Neither option seems all that appealing. 

I was already tired, and I stayed up to watch the draft.  The Cowboys had the 18th pick.  Not too bad, but they traded all the way down to the 31st pick.  I can't stay up that late.  I'll check the results in the morning.

And your PSA for the day:  The windshield wiper switch will not turn off your car's engine.  It will, however, start your day with a delightful little heart attack when your wiper blades unexpectedly scrape across the dry grass. 

You're welcome.