Now that the smoke has cleared, the votes have all been tallied, and the score officially revealed, Brian and I were able to have a long, adult conversation about my Donnie Wahlberg obsession.
Then, finally, after much prodding (and pouting), he made his confession on film, for the world to see.
And so, my occasional Donnie Wahlberg blogs (OMG did you see him dance last night on Dancing with the Stars?) are safe. For now.
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Now, readers, I’m relying on you to tell me the truth here. What do you see in this picture:
Nothing? Really? Ok, how about THIS one:
Ok, have you been hanging around with my husband??? Do I need to draw a picture? How’s this:
THOSE HAIRS ON MY HEAD ARE GREY!!!!!!!!!!!
A few days ago, I swear to you, I found a grey hair. Before I thought to myself, “Gee, I should take a picture or show my husband,” I plucked that sucker right outta there in a moment of sheer panic.
Once my heart rate slowed and my eyes stopped bugging out of my head, I reasoned, “Surely, it must have been a fluke.”
As in, this particular grey hair, who’s life I’d just brutally ended, had MEANT to grow on Old Mother Hubbard’s head, and just took a wrong turn and ended up on mine.
Then, this morning, as I was putting on my eyeliner, I saw ANOTHER one. And it brought friends. So, I’m showing you this photographic evidence so I can ask you this question. Is this assumption of mine correct?
I always thought I’d age gracefully. Now I’m not so sure.