It's my weekend to work. I've spent the last twelve hours on my feet caring for strangers and I am over-the-moon excited to crash on the couch. The hubs is heading out for a night on the town with friends, and I am totally content with missing out on all the fun. I used to have a little something I call "FOMS", also known as, Fear Of Missing Something. As I enter my late twenties, I am slowly, but surely, noticing that I could care less what everyone else has going on. I feel pretty damn good about this party for one I am about to throw in my living room... Actually, that's a complete lie. Oliver, the most cuddly pup in the entire world, will be joining me. Could a girl ask for more?
