Oh. Mah. Gawd.
I'm bloody knackered. And apparently, very British all the sudden. For those not in the know, knackered = tired. And bloody is a word I can use in the presence of Americans when I don't want them to know I'm swearing. Americans usually think it's a cute little British word that one uses to signify they're "very" something. It's really a nasty word here. The secret's out.
Anyhoo, the point is that I'm tired. And I have lots to blog but no will to blog it. From game night (I use the word "night" loosely since it was technically "morning" when we left) at the Nori's, to my day spent pounding the pavement of multiple London boroughs in 4-inch wedges yesterday, to visiting London's only "girls only luxury toilet and powder room", to seeing Dirty Dancing live and on stage in the West End, to Jason making my entire day at roughly midnight last night by telling me there was a jar of Skippy peanut butter on the kitchen counter when I announced I was hungry just as we switched off the bedroom lamp.