My name is Amy.  I’m a middle-aged, worn out woman with a love for people who are true even when it hurts, McDonald’s french fries, and a belief that no nacho can really ever be a bad nacho.  Even the one that causes you to shit your pants? Totally worth it.

I’m married to a pretty okay guy who I think will keep me around.  At least I hope so.  We have one son who is grown up, all adult like, and living on his own but that won’t stop me from talking about him like he’s still my baby boy.  He’s an only child.  You should know how that goes.  He’s a rotten little fellow.  I blame his father.

I blame his father a lot.

We have two cats.  I’m not a lover of the feline world but our 17-year-old dog recently died and the companionship of a cat is something I’m extremely grateful for.  What can I say? They’re growing on me.  Stinky, litter box scraping, narcissistic animals.  But hey. Nothing like pretending I’m panning for gold while scooping poop to make my chores seem more fulfilling.

No, really. I’m grateful.