I think I am officially obsessed with this meme. I'm starting to look forward to Tuesday as a day to clear out the mental cobwebs, and I have this woman to thank.
I wasn't aware of how little I was paying attention to the woman who popped into my office today until she pointed toward my file cabinets and asked, "Is that an armadillo?" She was so certain, I had to turn and look. Turns out it was my overturned sneaker. After she left I made fun of her, but not myself.
My grandmother's mother-in-law was determined to turn her into a proficient pie maker. Even with the lessons, my grandmother botched them all up. When no one was looking, she’d bury the inedible pies in the backyard. I guess I officially know from where I got the "I suck in the kitchen" gene.
You know that commercial where the mom wipes a counter with a raw chicken and it’s supposed to illustrate how your sponge is a cesspool of germs and flesh-eating bacteria? That commercial makes me think of my mother because when she’s at my house—like she was on Saturday night so Chuck and I could go out—she uses my sponge for everything. Still, I never imagined this (she swears she accidentally brought it here after she did the dishes, but I have my doubts):
The booger is gone. The "walking?" comments have ceased. If it's true that once I blog about something it rectifies itself, then my next post is going to be entitled "My jeans are tight and I don't have a pool boy."
There should be a "I blog broke up with you because..." form letter. It would come in handy for those times when you think one of your biggest fans has just been MIA from the blogosphere but you stumble upon her comments on every site you visit and then it hits you, you've been blumped (or dumpogged, whichever you prefer).
