Feisty Repartee

Never to be seen again

Tomorrow we head to Baton Rouge for the LSU game.

This morning Sweet One and I took the dogs to the groomer/boarder. They were to open at 7:30, but when we drove up at that time, all was dark behind the locked door. As the dogs were anxious, I decided to take them out and walk them a bit as we waited.

As soon as we got out of the vehicle, a lady emerged from her SUV across the parking lot. She approached and explained she had taken her husband's keys this morning and was unable to open the door; however, she only lived ten minutes away.

I gave her the blank, you're freakin' kidding me look, but said nothing.

Sweet One averted her eyes, unsure of what would next transpire.

Looking down at my watch, I finally said: "Well, I do have to get to work."

At that point the lady offered to take the dogs with her when she collected her keys. We walked over to her truck and she opened the door to the back seat. When the dogs gleefully jumped right in, I had the thought: "Well, that's the last time we will ever see those two again..."

It faded quickly and I then handed her the bags of food for each of the dogs.

I'll see your twenty-five and raise you...

So, that extra twenty-five pounds might not be such a bad thing.

Check up

The husband had a routine physical this morning. I say "routine;" however, I cannot recall the last one he had. The appointment was made after a colleague of mine came in with extremely bad news. Her forty-six-year-old husband who is a RN was diagnosed with stage IV colorectal cancer. He had been basically asymptomatic with no family history of cancer. My father died of colorectal cancer.

As I left the house this morning, I kissed him goodbye and told him: "If you go ahead and have the snip-snip procedure (a.k.a. vasectomy), I will agree to a tummy tuck."

He just slowly shook his head and cracked up.

All is well. He called me a little while ago to tell me his blood pressure was 110/69 and everything looked great.

He has not; however, made that appointment with the urologist. . .

Mistress of Disquise

At the end of last winter I bought one a finely loomed wool shawl. I wanted something that was fairly lightweight, but still offer some warmth, as well as look attractive.

This is what I bought:

This morning the weather was overcast and blustery with an expected high in the high 60's. I pulled on a short-sleeved, but long and kind of flowy black dress. I grabbed the shawl, loosely wrapped it around my shoulders and off I went.

It is absolutely perfect.

It drew quite a few comments when I finally walked into the office (can you say seven car pile up on the loop?). In fact, one lady had me drape it around my head and across my face with just my eyes showing. She had no idea how quickly I was able to change my identity with just my garb.

Pretty hot, in a cool sorta way.

The Laundry Nazi

For a while now, the fourteen-year-old Sweet One has been responsible for washing her own clothes; however, she managed to incur the wrath of the Laundry Nazi this morning.

As she is already in school and well out of my grasp, here is the email I send her so I would not forget the infraction by the time she returned home this afternoon:

[Sweet One]

This morning I opened the dryer and there were probably six white items total in it and they all belonged to you.

When I opened the washer, there were exactly four articles of pink and red clothing, all belonging to you.

The sorter hamper was full of whites, reds, and darks.

The next time you waste energy, water, and other resources by failing to make a full load of clothes when matching items *could* have been washed with your things, you will no longer be allowed to use my washer or dryer. From that point, you will be required to take your items to a laundromat to wash them each week at YOUR expense.

Period.

That is all.

Momma

I feel better now.

Back to the Christmas wrapping. . .

At this rate...

I should be well and sick of Christmas, at least by Thanksgiving.

It is a beautiful day. As the sun broke this morning it was sixty-five degrees. I donned a t-shirt and denim skirt with my sandals as I took Sweet One to school (Wee had gotten up early enough to catch the bus).

Second stop was Home Depot for a pre-lit Christmas tree. I decided to invest in a nice nine and one-half foot one this year rather than a "fresh" one that I would have to wrap in four packages of lights.

While not that heavy, the box itself is a good eight feet long. I am praying like hell it comes in two or three sections and that box is not filled with 2,352 separate fronds.

While I was checking out I spotted a holiday edition (Holiday Menus) of my favorite cooking magazine (Cuisine at Home). After flipping through it, I realized I had to have it, too. The words "White Russian Eggnog," "Caramel Pecan Tart," "Triple Gingerbread Cake," and "Feta Pepper Dip" just screamed out at me.

Now that I am home, the huge box with the tree in it remains in my car. It must come out before I pick the girls up from school. As I am a good eighty-percent done with my Christmas shopping, I am toying with the idea of wrapping what I have and doing a little inventory checklist to make sure I am on track.

We are headed to Baton Rouge for a LSU game this weekend. While I have the girls on campus, I plan to take some shots and, hopefully, one of them will make our Christmas card photo for this year. Anal me prefers to send our cards the week following Thanksgiving so I do not have to worry about them anymore.

White Russian Eggnog, anyone?