So you probably heard the world was supposed to end this weekend.
News flash: It didn't.
Which kinda bums me out.
I mean, I'm in the middle of laundry. I don't like to do laundry.
And I've got some deadlines looming this week that would be really great to blow off.
But my kids would probably be mad. It's their last week of school - so, translation: it's a week of parties.
And who would want to leave all that?
Considering their sugar high should bring them home in a state of uncontrollable excitability, uh, the answer would be me.
But here we are. No rapture. No end of the world. No good excuse to miss my deadlines.
I guess if I'm a little disappointed, that Harold Camping guy must be devastated.
Although he probably isn't done predicting stuff.
And at 89 years of age, he doesn't have all that much longer on this earth anyway.
But cheer up, Harry. We all make mistakes. It's not the end of the world.