Ow My Boob Hurts

I think I pulled a muscle in my boob yesterday. Don't laugh. It's not funny. I made a grocery list. Then I lost it before I left the house. I searched for it everywhere, but left without it. Then I got a basket instead of a cart, cause I hate using carts in our little grocery store cause there are only two. Then I got more and more HEAVY things until the basket was too full. And I could carry it with one hand (the other was holding a gallon of water) but it pulled something in my boob. Then 4 hours later I found the list in my pocket.
Now I need some boob physical therapy and I am NOT going back to that surgeon who stuck that big needle into my hip without telling me what it was because no one is sticking a foot long needle into my boob.
I'm just going to keep holding it and saying "My Boob" at work today. No one will even notice.
And I'm too old for baskets at the grocery store. Next time I'm going straight for the motorized carts.
At least now I have an excuse for not helping the kids. When Haley says Go get my backpack from my bedroom Mom while I put on my shoes, I can say No My Boob Hurts. Or when Emily keeps calling my name to come check out some stupid video on the computer about a photo booth I can say that laughing makes it hurt more, so no thank-you. Or when Gina pushes me away when I'm trying to hug her, I can complain about my aging body and how I'm going to die soon and she'll feel bad that she didn't show me some love.

On a small tangent: It is a sign of EXTREME LAZINESS to call my cell phone as I sit in the living room from the house phone that you carried to the upstairs bathroom to tell me you're out of toilet paper.

And why was my box of sugar in the bathroom medicine cabinet? I still haven't figured that one out. If anyone knows please leave me a comment.

And You Live in a Crazy House is not an answer.