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.
Need. Just. One. More. Juice. Box. To. Push. Past. Stage. Fright.
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?
You think that’s paint?
It’s a puddle of pastel vomit.
Buzz and Niblet plot Mrs. Potato Head’s early demise.
Run, MPH! Run as fast as your spindley tater legs can tote your bulk! Run ’til you feel fried!
Under the guise of “working in the garden,” Groom and Girl shoot craps.
He wins away her allowance with nary a qualm. Then he spends it on booze.
Michael Kors makes hats out of paper plates, too.
Remember his Strawberry Shortcake line of 1999?
And that’s the bat we whack her with when she doesn’t clean her room.
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.
After this, he put new brake pads on the min-van.
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?
Even if they’re in front of the tv, so long as they’re touching, it counts as a family dinner, right?
The thing about Lake Superior is that it needs more rocks in it.
Just as soon as he finds his glass slipper, he fully intends to suck your blood.
She’s got his glass slipper right there, in that purse.
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.
And if he does ever find out, like he could catch her up there?
And in that bag on the front of the scooter?
She has Dorothy’s ruby slippers.
Not on the tail of the international shoe thief,
it’s Detective Dragon Dude.
The slipper thief serves out her jail time mid-air.
After her release, she intimates that true reform may still be a speck on the horizon.
Meanwhile, back at the clubhouse, Dr. Hypo gives shots of his legendary truth serum.
Then we took off the costumes and went to the creek.
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?
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