My vowel is wonky

Pretty much nothing cracks me up as much as when I misunderstand someone speaking to me. The level at which I won't understand you is directly proportional to the amount of sleep I didn't get. Recently, my husband offered to get me a glass eye, and of course, I accepted. Yesterday I explained to my best friend (not my breast friend, no!) that I couldn't meet her for lunch because my valve was wonky, meaning my breast pump couldn't pump, leaving me rather at loose ends and needing to run home to the big pump Ol' Reliable. She believed I said my vowel was wonky, and maybe it was. I once thought that my sister was insisting I should try schnapps because "It's good for you on Fridays" which I found baffling, until I found out she was telling me it was good for my arthritis. Even more baffling since I don't have arthritis. I will likely have arthritis by the time I stop using this damn breast pump though. Who knew that a moderately sized child could give one aching joints? Who knew a breast pump without a hands free attachment would create the dreaded "bottle elbow" pain? I think I once envisioned motherhood through a soft misty glow, seeing myself in a hazy Madonna and child sort of pose. I didn't know then that the filmy gauzy look I envisioned for myself was representative of the film of milk all over me, my pump, my pump parts, my baby, and every chair I sit in to feed my baby. The breast pump is still wonky, and I don't believe its good for you on Fridays. Or on Mondays.