As if my brain weren’t fragmented enough. I get all this junk stuck in there and I don’t know what to do with it. So Mrs. 4-4-4-4’s over at Half-Past Kissin’ Time has this great link-up. It’s for all that stuff that gets relegated to my “blog about” notebook, but never really get’s a chance to escape.
So these are the things I thought were interesting enough to remember, just not quite deep enough to expound on:
My son loves his cousin-sister. They’re onlys and my sister is almost my only friend, so it’s a good deal all around. My son is addicted to gum-ball machines, OK, who isn’t? At the restaurant the other day, he stole a quarter out of my purse to buy a gum-ball. I didn’t know this at the time, or maybe I just wasn’t paying attention. No matter. Cousin-sister walks in, gives him that million dollar smile, and he says “I have a present for you!” She doesn’t even wait to hear what it is, she starts gushing “you’re the best brother in the whole world!” and runs over to give him a hug. He hands her a gum-ball. Her eyes pop open so wide you think they’re gonna fall out of her head, she looks so clearly amazed as she says, in her loudest most outside voice “I love blue balls! Blue balls are my favorite!”
It seems our best comes out around mealtime, at dinner over the weekend, somehow my sister and I got on the topic of ashes. As in “remains”. We both mused about how we had such grand plans for the ashes of our previous dogs. However we each still have the ashes of our last dog, mine is in a closet, I think she said hers was in a drawer somewhere. Then a thought struck us (because we share a brain), maybe we should add a teaspoon of the ashes of our previous dogs to our new dogs food, because if you are what you eat?
Maybe if I tried, I could make this into a post. But I’m tired. Although it had a title, “Don’t be mean because you’re green”. Ya see, sometimes people take themselves way to seriously, and when I am out and about without the
terrorist wonderful son in tow, I can be a little chatty. You know, I get to pretend I’m a grown-up, but the checker at Whole Foods today had no sense of humor whatsoever. I’m buying the necessities, you know, Sangria. And she doesn’t even card me. I’m all “hey how old do you think I am?” with a smile. Her “what?” me “you know, don’t you have to card me if I look under a certain age? What’s that age?” her “pardon me?” Now this isn’t even funny anymore, it’s painful. Me “you know, don’t they tell you in training, if someone looks under “this age”, like 60, you need to card them?” Her, “oh 30”. Me “oh OK, I can handle 30.” Can you hear the crickets chirping? What’s up chickie???? Give this mama some love and card her!!!!