Happiness Is a Red Negligee
Two summers ago, we entered a merciful holding pattern…
For nobody got on an airplane.
And nobody died.
Nobody sprang a mutated version of “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” evening on us.
Instead, we took a quick trip to Lincoln, Nebraska, meeting my sister there for a few days before she left for two years in Guatemala. We ate some bagels; we visited the Children’s Museum; we played Go Fish.
It was good. It was easy.
And the rest of the summer? Unfettered by huge life moments, we simply enjoyed Life’s Rich Pageant.
He scrapes paint off woodwork.
He fixes the dehumidifier.
He cheers like a big ole white boy (check out the overbite).
Dear Glamourpuss, my boy wants to make the cut for your Well-Dressed Wednesday posts. It’s about attitude, confidence, and panache more than anything, right?
Run, MPH! Run as fast as your spindley tater legs can tote your bulk! Run ’til you feel fried!
He wins away her allowance with nary a qualm. Then he spends it on booze.
Remember his Strawberry Shortcake line of 1999?
Er, with which we whack her. Damn prepositions. They sure are something that’s difficult to put up with.
Crap. I mean, of course, up with which to put.
But have you tried Nekkid Wid Diaper?
Once you have, you’ll never go back.
If he wants to stay, he needs to make himself useful and earn his keep. What? Does he think Little Debbie Zebra Cakes grow on trees?
Behind that impish grin lurks the smile of a diobolical genius.
It’s been two years now, and she STILL hasn’t told him she’s got it.
He looks and looks, every day, calling out, “Oh, glass slipper? Where are you?”
She never says a word.
She has Dorothy’s ruby slippers.
it’s Detective Dragon Dude.
We live by Seven Bridges Road.
This is the 7th bridge.
The whole notion makes me “ooooh” too at the very luck and magic of it all. I mean, if they’d stopped with the sixth bridge, that would have just been dumb. Who builds SIX bridges?