Friday night. Bedtime. Rissa wriggles spasmodically under her blankets. “I’ve got something in my pants!” Sigh. “What do you have in your pants?” “A sliver or something!” “A sliver? How can you have a sliver?” “I don’t know, maybe from the dance studio.” Stalling. She is stalling the bedtime process. “Just ignore it.” “Ignore it?!?…
I am posting this… and so usher in the beginning of the holiday season… Merry Christmas! (Who knew that Kmart had it in ’em?)
“Just rip it out!! Please,” I begged. “Oh, love, I can’t,” said David. “Yes, yes, you can! Just take a spoon, or your thumb, or a FREAKING NAIL FILE, and pop out my eye. Scramble it if you have to, but get it out!!! Any of those will hurt less than the invisible railroad spike…
Ggggggggggrowl… grumble… grumble… grumble… “Stupid yoga pants! Stupid bra! My boobs don’t belong in a bra yet!” grumble… grumble… grumble… Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. “Stupid stairs.” Trip. Slip. “Stupid cat toy!” grumble… grumble… grumble… “Stupid morning.” “Still sleepy, huh?” Rissa comes over, enveloping me in a purple terry cloth hug. grumble… grumble… grumble… “Not awake yet…”…
BANG! Even on this windy, windy November’s day, the sound ricocheted off buildings. “What the hell was that?” David asked. I looked around wildly. “I don’t know, I don’t know!” My shoulder ached a bit. “Are you okay? Were you hit?” David gave me the once over, checking for blood. “I think maybe… I don’t…
Oh yeah, I’m on the cutting edge… On my way home yesterday, it became apparent that I could never be one of those kids who wears his pants half-way down his ass. As I was cutting through the Via Rail parking lot, I could feel the waistband of my tights begin to give. I’ve had…
WARNING: THERE IS TOO MUCH INFORMATION IN THIS POST. Winter in Canada. Cold, right? In some places VERY COLD. We’re not even into ACTUAL winter yet and I can see the effects on my poor spouse. We went for a walk on Friday night as the sun was going down and David was unprepared. After…
By my own ass, no less. It’s the 3-way mirror’s fault. Feeling great about myself – finding that cute perfect-for-me dress – that I actually have the money in hand to pay for – I sashay my ass into the change room. I cast off my clothes and as I’m turning around, I catch a…
For instance… according to my daughter, these are the signs for “Uterus Falling Out.” Apparently last year, in Grade 7, Rissa and her friends figured it out so that they could torment the boys. I don’t know how accurate it is in ASL, but I’ll be signing it myself from now on. Above Rissa exhibits…
I should have known better than to post that I had an abundance of energy. Those petty cold gods sure do love their schadenfreude. Tuesday morning I awoke… no, strike that. Who am I kidding? I never really woke up during the day. Went back to bed for a couple of hours to see if…