I fall all the time, so I can say this.
Falling people is one of the funniest things. My first instinct is to laugh and then I ask if the person is alright.
This past week I fell. Again.
I was walking with a friend, coffee in hand, not paying attention. One wrong step and I went down like 200 pounds. (Don't judge me. I'm trying to lose it.)
Mo, my friend, who was walking beside me, coffee in hand, immediately bent over and asked if I was ok. I was grateful for this, since I hadn't heard a laugh from her lips yet, but what I did hear not two seconds after she asked if I was ok, and well before I answered her, was, "Oh no, your coffee!"
Mo, with her mongoose-like reflexes dove for the coffee and saves two thirds of it. Alright, Mo! I was afterall quite in need of caffeine.
This same week, a group of people were made to compete in an Izzy Dizzy relay race. To my disappointment, no one fell. Sure some were running around like chickens without heads, but not one spill. Not one fat girl or boy face down in the grass. Admit it. Fat people falling is even funnier than fit people falling.
What's even more funny, is when you see someone truly annoying fall down. This also happened last week. It was an eventful week. Don't be jealous that I got to laugh much more than you did.
I'm not entirely fond of this person, who you can always count on as someone who is trying to garner attention to herself. Well, she got it, by falling pretty hard on her back and head last week. It was not just your usual spill. She happened to be running bare footed on a tile floor that was covered in water from a fresh spill. Well, her feet went up in the air, probably a good two to three feet and she landed on her back and her head hit the linolium tile floor. As much as I can't stand her, I was one of the first people by her side. Not because I was laughing, but because it looked like a scary fall that could have seriously hurt her, which I wouldn't wish on ayone... Ok, that's not true. I wouldn't wish it on many.
I didn't laugh at her then, but since she was given a clean bill of healthy by the nursing staff, and still milked it for the next couple of days and then continued to try to get all the attention at the end of the week, I am laughing. I am laughing in her general direction.
Ah, good times. (And I'm not even going to proof read this.)
Monday, August 24, 2009
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
File This One Under... WTF?
On Sunday my husband did me a favor.
Wait, a favor? Can I really call it a favor? Okay, you decide if this is a favor or not.
He said, "Honey since I know you want to clean the dining room and livingroom, and mop the floors, I was thinking I would take Merrick to my brother's house early and you can meet us there later."
Important note: I don't recall implying in any way, shape, or form that I wanted to clean anything. In fact, anyone who knows me, knows that I don't want to clean. Ever.
A real favor would have been if he had said, "Honey, I know you're not feeling well (which I'm not), so why don't I take Merrick early while you soak it up in the tub and have a relaxing afternoon?"
So after I cleaned the living and dining rooms and yes, mopped the floors I took a shower, (not a relaxing soak in the tub) and headed out to my brother-in-law's house for our Sunday ritual of a four-hour Portuguese Sunday dinner of loud talking, half English, half Portugues sentences, and translations for me. As I got into the car I noticed that it was drzzling ever so slightly. As I got onto Rt. 80 East, I noticed that it was drizzling less slightly. As I pulled into Kearny, it was now raining prety good.
Merrick was happy to see me. So happy, he greeted me with a dirty diaper. So I took him upstairs to change it. In the middle of this duty (not doodie), I realized that the wind had really picked up. I could hear tree branches hitting the ground and the 100 foot tall trees that lined Tony's street were responding angrily. Just as I finished pulling up Merrick's pants, he and I both were startled by a loud crash and scraping noise.
WTF!
Tony and Joe were yelling for us to come downstairs because a tree had came down on the roof. Or so they thought.
Literally, just as the tree had come down, the rain stopped and the sun was blaring. You could not see out of any window at the back of the house. All were obstructed by leaves.
WTF.
When we went to the kitchen door, leading to the deck... There was no deck. Only tree.
WTF.
Ok, so Tony was obviously getting his wish. He had just remarked the other day how he wnated to put on a new deck. Bonus!
We went outside the front door and walked up the drive
way, but we couldn't see into the backyard. We could only see tree. A neighbor from four or five houses down, came running over asking if everyone was ok. We all were fine.
"It's terrible about your car," he said.
WTF?
"Why," asked Tony.
"It's crushed. I watched it happen."
After walking through the other neighbor's yard, we could see that Tony's baby, his Ford Explorer, that he just put new tires on, and 20 minutes earlier, my hubby put a new headlight bulb in, was in fact crushed.
WTF.
I love many things about this story. The fact that it did not really damage the house (sans the deck). The fact that no one was sitting on the deck as we often do on Sundays. The fact that Joe didn't wait a half an hour longer to install the headlight bulb.
But what I love the most is Tony. He lost his deck and truck, and all he could say was, "I never thought the Explorer would go out that way."
Wait, a favor? Can I really call it a favor? Okay, you decide if this is a favor or not.
He said, "Honey since I know you want to clean the dining room and livingroom, and mop the floors, I was thinking I would take Merrick to my brother's house early and you can meet us there later."
Important note: I don't recall implying in any way, shape, or form that I wanted to clean anything. In fact, anyone who knows me, knows that I don't want to clean. Ever.
A real favor would have been if he had said, "Honey, I know you're not feeling well (which I'm not), so why don't I take Merrick early while you soak it up in the tub and have a relaxing afternoon?"
So after I cleaned the living and dining rooms and yes, mopped the floors I took a shower, (not a relaxing soak in the tub) and headed out to my brother-in-law's house for our Sunday ritual of a four-hour Portuguese Sunday dinner of loud talking, half English, half Portugues sentences, and translations for me. As I got into the car I noticed that it was drzzling ever so slightly. As I got onto Rt. 80 East, I noticed that it was drizzling less slightly. As I pulled into Kearny, it was now raining prety good.
Merrick was happy to see me. So happy, he greeted me with a dirty diaper. So I took him upstairs to change it. In the middle of this duty (not doodie), I realized that the wind had really picked up. I could hear tree branches hitting the ground and the 100 foot tall trees that lined Tony's street were responding angrily. Just as I finished pulling up Merrick's pants, he and I both were startled by a loud crash and scraping noise.
WTF!
Tony and Joe were yelling for us to come downstairs because a tree had came down on the roof. Or so they thought.
Literally, just as the tree had come down, the rain stopped and the sun was blaring. You could not see out of any window at the back of the house. All were obstructed by leaves.
WTF.
When we went to the kitchen door, leading to the deck... There was no deck. Only tree.
WTF.
Ok, so Tony was obviously getting his wish. He had just remarked the other day how he wnated to put on a new deck. Bonus!
We went outside the front door and walked up the drive
way, but we couldn't see into the backyard. We could only see tree. A neighbor from four or five houses down, came running over asking if everyone was ok. We all were fine."It's terrible about your car," he said.
WTF?
"Why," asked Tony.
"It's crushed. I watched it happen."
After walking through the other neighbor's yard, we could see that Tony's baby, his Ford Explorer, that he just put new tires on, and 20 minutes earlier, my hubby put a new headlight bulb in, was in fact crushed.
WTF.
I love many things about this story. The fact that it did not really damage the house (sans the deck). The fact that no one was sitting on the deck as we often do on Sundays. The fact that Joe didn't wait a half an hour longer to install the headlight bulb.
But what I love the most is Tony. He lost his deck and truck, and all he could say was, "I never thought the Explorer would go out that way."
The Shit Hit Everything
I want to tell you a story.
Once upon a time, while driving back from a long day of site seeing at Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, my son had an ass explosion. Here's how it went down.
This past week I had my niece and nephew on vacation with me. We took a series of day trips each day. We didn't have any misshaps. Well, maybe just this one.
On Wednesday, we went to the Statue of Liberty. Let me tell you something too. We waited on line for ever to get into the monument, in what felt like 90 degree heat. Veronica was content, My mom, who came along sat with Merrick in the shade while we went in and up, and my nephew Gabriel wanted to do anything but stand on line. Anything amounted to throwing rocks, nagging his sister, sitting in the dirt with a sour look on his face, and hiding behind trees so I would think he ran off somewhere. It got old quick. Anyhow, after standing on line forever, we finally got into the museumy part of the monument. Not much to look at. Then we went in to the second observation deck. It was a hell of a lot of stairs to climb, especially for someone who put on 55 lbs during her pregnancy. I am down 14 pounds, just so you know. The view was alright, but I don't think I really needed to take the time to walk up all those stairs, almost have a stroke, and see what looked like a pretty ordinary view. My point is... yes I have one... I would have been better off just walking around the Statue of Liberty.
Anyhow, a day trip that we thought would take four or five hours, turned into about a 6 or 7 hour trip. We did have to stop at Ellis Island afterall.
On the way home, I heard the unmistakable sound of a pooping 7-month old.
Uggghhh. Ugggghhh.
"Is that Merrick pooping," I asked my niece and nephew.
"Smells like it. His face is getting red."
And then someone who doesn't really believe in the jinx, feels like she may have jinxed herself. Or rather, everyone in the car.
I said, "I sure hope he doesn't overflow the diaper."
About half of a Lady Gaga (Shes always on the radio) song later, Veronica started crying out, "He pooped. He pooped. It's on my hand. Help me!" Veronica is a prissy little girl, who is into clothes and pink, so you can imagine the shrieking.
I'm driving the car, so I can't turn around and see it for myself, so I arrange the rear view mirror so I could see what was going on. There's Veronica to the right of the car seat, shrieking with her poop filled hand in the air, crying for help. Ahh, if it were a very cold day, it might have even been steaming. That would have made it funnier. Then came the smell. Gabriel was pushed up against the left door of the car, trying to keep as far away as possible from the smell and I suppose, Veronica's hand.
My mom is in the passanger side seat, and she turns around to get a better look and lend a hand. Thank God for mommies.
"Is that the pacifier between his legs on the seat," I wonder aloud.
Mom pulls out the pacifier, which is of course covered in shit.
Now, I'm laughing. My mom grabs the wipes from the diaper bag and begins to clean off the pacifier (as though I'm going to put it in Merrick's mouth after this episode). Veronica is begging for her to clean her hand instead, which mom obliges. She cleans up Merrick's legs as best she can, so Merrick won't put his hands in the poop and then continues to sit facing the back seat so she can prevent him from causing any more chaos.
We roll down the windows. The kids faces are out of them, while I exit Rt. 280 into Harrison, where my parents live. It was a good thing we were close. The whole time I am hysterical, but also wondering if the suede car seat cover is machine washable. It's got to be, right?
When we arrive, I have to park down the street from their house. Parking is a bitch in Harrison. I put the Statue of Liberty merchandise bag on my arm, plop Merrick's smelly, sloppy ass into it, and carry him up the street to mom and dad's where there was a kitchen sink and spray hose with his name all over it.
And that my friends, was some funny shit. Sorry. I couldn't help saying so.
Once upon a time, while driving back from a long day of site seeing at Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, my son had an ass explosion. Here's how it went down.
This past week I had my niece and nephew on vacation with me. We took a series of day trips each day. We didn't have any misshaps. Well, maybe just this one.
On Wednesday, we went to the Statue of Liberty. Let me tell you something too. We waited on line for ever to get into the monument, in what felt like 90 degree heat. Veronica was content, My mom, who came along sat with Merrick in the shade while we went in and up, and my nephew Gabriel wanted to do anything but stand on line. Anything amounted to throwing rocks, nagging his sister, sitting in the dirt with a sour look on his face, and hiding behind trees so I would think he ran off somewhere. It got old quick. Anyhow, after standing on line forever, we finally got into the museumy part of the monument. Not much to look at. Then we went in to the second observation deck. It was a hell of a lot of stairs to climb, especially for someone who put on 55 lbs during her pregnancy. I am down 14 pounds, just so you know. The view was alright, but I don't think I really needed to take the time to walk up all those stairs, almost have a stroke, and see what looked like a pretty ordinary view. My point is... yes I have one... I would have been better off just walking around the Statue of Liberty.
Anyhow, a day trip that we thought would take four or five hours, turned into about a 6 or 7 hour trip. We did have to stop at Ellis Island afterall.
On the way home, I heard the unmistakable sound of a pooping 7-month old.
Uggghhh. Ugggghhh.
"Is that Merrick pooping," I asked my niece and nephew.
"Smells like it. His face is getting red."
And then someone who doesn't really believe in the jinx, feels like she may have jinxed herself. Or rather, everyone in the car.
I said, "I sure hope he doesn't overflow the diaper."
About half of a Lady Gaga (Shes always on the radio) song later, Veronica started crying out, "He pooped. He pooped. It's on my hand. Help me!" Veronica is a prissy little girl, who is into clothes and pink, so you can imagine the shrieking.
I'm driving the car, so I can't turn around and see it for myself, so I arrange the rear view mirror so I could see what was going on. There's Veronica to the right of the car seat, shrieking with her poop filled hand in the air, crying for help. Ahh, if it were a very cold day, it might have even been steaming. That would have made it funnier. Then came the smell. Gabriel was pushed up against the left door of the car, trying to keep as far away as possible from the smell and I suppose, Veronica's hand.
My mom is in the passanger side seat, and she turns around to get a better look and lend a hand. Thank God for mommies.
"Is that the pacifier between his legs on the seat," I wonder aloud.
Mom pulls out the pacifier, which is of course covered in shit.
Now, I'm laughing. My mom grabs the wipes from the diaper bag and begins to clean off the pacifier (as though I'm going to put it in Merrick's mouth after this episode). Veronica is begging for her to clean her hand instead, which mom obliges. She cleans up Merrick's legs as best she can, so Merrick won't put his hands in the poop and then continues to sit facing the back seat so she can prevent him from causing any more chaos.
We roll down the windows. The kids faces are out of them, while I exit Rt. 280 into Harrison, where my parents live. It was a good thing we were close. The whole time I am hysterical, but also wondering if the suede car seat cover is machine washable. It's got to be, right?
When we arrive, I have to park down the street from their house. Parking is a bitch in Harrison. I put the Statue of Liberty merchandise bag on my arm, plop Merrick's smelly, sloppy ass into it, and carry him up the street to mom and dad's where there was a kitchen sink and spray hose with his name all over it.
And that my friends, was some funny shit. Sorry. I couldn't help saying so.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I've Gone Ahead And Done It
I've done it. I've gone ahead and started a motherhood blog. It will of course be unlike this one. Most of the content will be "appropriate."
http://new2mommyhood.blogspot.com/
Anyway, you may choose to read this one or not. But if you do, please comment. It makes me feel very special.
http://new2mommyhood.blogspot.com/
Anyway, you may choose to read this one or not. But if you do, please comment. It makes me feel very special.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Hrrrmph! He's Going to Say No!
So my husband and I asked his brother Tony to be Godfather to our son. He hasn't had any other sacrement other than baptism, so he didn't think he would be allowed by the Catholic Church. I spoke with Father George and it turns out he would be allowed, as long as the other Godparent has them, which she does. Tonight, we explained that to him and he still didn't get a straight yes or no answer, but before we were leaving, I brought it up and he just made a noise.
An, "eeehhhh" noise.
Joe said, "You need another week to think about it." (Which angered me a bit because he already had a week to think about it, so why not have an answer ready for us? We're baptising him in four weeks. Invitations are going out tomorrow or the next day. Family members are going to ask who the godparents are, and we don't have a clue? That sucks.)
It's clear that he is going to say no.
Maybe I shouldn't be bummed, but I am. In fact, I feel quite heart-broken about it.
An, "eeehhhh" noise.
Joe said, "You need another week to think about it." (Which angered me a bit because he already had a week to think about it, so why not have an answer ready for us? We're baptising him in four weeks. Invitations are going out tomorrow or the next day. Family members are going to ask who the godparents are, and we don't have a clue? That sucks.)
It's clear that he is going to say no.
Maybe I shouldn't be bummed, but I am. In fact, I feel quite heart-broken about it.
Monday, March 16, 2009
When Babies Attack!
First He lures in the monkey.
Just as the mommy began to warn the monkey, the baby attacked, ferociously gumming the monkey's head.
"Lets be Best Friends Forever," he suggests with his baby good looks and a twinkle in his eye.
"Sure," says the money, unaware of the danger he's putting himself in.
"Let me just put my arm around you, since we're now BFF," says the baby.
All was calm and serene. The monkey had no idea that the baby began to open his mouth. The baby looked at his mother, as if to ask, "Should I?"
Just as the mommy began to warn the monkey, the baby attacked, ferociously gumming the monkey's head.But don't worry. Mommy was able to make it all better with the help of a wet nap and a sterile band aid.
No monkeys were harmed in the making of this photo-shoot, however I did get a thumb cramp.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Look Into My Evil Eye
First let me say this.
"Hello Gorgeous."
Not you. I'm referring to this blog, which I have, for too long, ignored. I know there could be no excuse that will make my trusty companion (blogger) forgive me, but I must say that being a new mommy did take precedence over almost everything else. Anyhow, now that the lil' guy sleeps through the night (at only 3 months I might add) I have some more time to myself and to this blog at night. And I really have to thank my friend Andrea who called me recently and told me the following story, because it gives me something to write about other than my son.
So here it goes.
I was driving home from work about a week ago, and Andrea called me. We chatted about odds and ends until she suddenly started whispering.
"Ok, I have to tell you what 's going on with my sister-in-law," she said.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because I don't want Barry to hear."
She has a point. Even though Barry thinks his sister is a bit loony, or perhaps he would use the term "sheltered," he might not appreciate others criticising her for being as such. For example, my husband does not quite like my sister. And I don't mean how most husbands dislike their sisters-in-law. He genuinely does not like her. He will occasionally make a comment and I sometimes have to remind him that it's ok for me to make those same comments, but I don't always want to hear them from him. (Only sometimes)
So, the whispered story continues...
She goes on to tell me that her sister-in-law thinks that someone has put the "evil eye" on her... Over the Internet.
You read correctly. Over the Internet.
Immediately I started to laugh. I don't know if I was laughing because it was really funny, or because anything other than my son's tooting deserves a hearty chuckle. So laugh, I did. For quite a few moments, and then I asked, "What the hell is the evil eye really?" I've heard the term a lot. I know some Italians. Let's put it that way. But, I don't really know how one gets the evil eye put on them or why.
So she explained it and I also did some independent research (since I have so much free time). What I learned is that the Evil Eye has been around "since the beginning of time," said one website. Does this mean that Adam gave Eve the Evil Eye? Because if there was any eye I would be convinced that Adam gave Eve, it was Pirate. I digress. Depending on who you ask, the Evil Eye is actually a compliment. If someone is looking at you enviously, they could send negative energy to you by way of the "third eye" that we all may or may not posses in the middle of our foreheads. (No wonder bangs are back!) Last I checked, I did not have this trait, but I've been wrong before. The evil eye is an unfriendly, indifferent or even blank gaze that just lasts a little too long. If you've seen Juno, then you might refer to this as The Stink Eye, not the evil eye. Anyway, after someone has given you the evil eye, you might find yourself thinking about that person shortly after and for most, if not all day long. Bad fortune is supposed to follow.
In Andrea's sister-in-law's case, she claims to have had weird dreams as a result of this Internet delivered evil eye. I, of course asked which site's she's been on because I'd like to avoid the stink eye myself. Andrea said she goes on social chat sites and believes that someone she might have chatted with put this eye on her. Hmmm. Ok. So this dumb bitch goes to see a priest, tells him her story; which by the way involves dreams of of someone on top of her in bed, and chasing her, or some shit like that. Given that she is so sheltered and basically has no life, I would think she would enjoy such a dream. What what do I know?
So Father So-and-So basically tells her that she's crazy. She must have something on her mind in order to have the dreams (yeah like hoping to one day get laid).
Other things I've learned about the Evil Eye are:
1. In Italy, it is believed that the Evil Eye can cause impotence. It dries up the semen. However a man can ward this off my making the Mano Cornuto symbol with his hand. Perhaps Dane Cook's Super Finger is for impotence as well. I dunno.
2. Jews may spit three times or say "peh-peh-peh", throw salt, or mutter "kein ayin hara" ("no evil eye") when they feel threatened by the evil eye.
3. You can buy amulets or other trinkets that will ward off the Evil Eye. In fact, I found a great Website called Evil Eye Store, where I think Andrea's sister in law can find the help that the priest was not able to provide. Perhaps Andrea should do her Christmas shopping on this site.
Well, that's it for now. I'm going to now go to Facebook and look just a little too long and enviously at some of my "friends" pictures. (Mua-Mua-Muah! Ah! Ah!)
"Hello Gorgeous."
Not you. I'm referring to this blog, which I have, for too long, ignored. I know there could be no excuse that will make my trusty companion (blogger) forgive me, but I must say that being a new mommy did take precedence over almost everything else. Anyhow, now that the lil' guy sleeps through the night (at only 3 months I might add) I have some more time to myself and to this blog at night. And I really have to thank my friend Andrea who called me recently and told me the following story, because it gives me something to write about other than my son.
So here it goes.
I was driving home from work about a week ago, and Andrea called me. We chatted about odds and ends until she suddenly started whispering.
"Ok, I have to tell you what 's going on with my sister-in-law," she said.
"Why are you whispering?"
"Because I don't want Barry to hear."
She has a point. Even though Barry thinks his sister is a bit loony, or perhaps he would use the term "sheltered," he might not appreciate others criticising her for being as such. For example, my husband does not quite like my sister. And I don't mean how most husbands dislike their sisters-in-law. He genuinely does not like her. He will occasionally make a comment and I sometimes have to remind him that it's ok for me to make those same comments, but I don't always want to hear them from him. (Only sometimes)
So, the whispered story continues...
She goes on to tell me that her sister-in-law thinks that someone has put the "evil eye" on her... Over the Internet.
You read correctly. Over the Internet.
Immediately I started to laugh. I don't know if I was laughing because it was really funny, or because anything other than my son's tooting deserves a hearty chuckle. So laugh, I did. For quite a few moments, and then I asked, "What the hell is the evil eye really?" I've heard the term a lot. I know some Italians. Let's put it that way. But, I don't really know how one gets the evil eye put on them or why.
So she explained it and I also did some independent research (since I have so much free time). What I learned is that the Evil Eye has been around "since the beginning of time," said one website. Does this mean that Adam gave Eve the Evil Eye? Because if there was any eye I would be convinced that Adam gave Eve, it was Pirate. I digress. Depending on who you ask, the Evil Eye is actually a compliment. If someone is looking at you enviously, they could send negative energy to you by way of the "third eye" that we all may or may not posses in the middle of our foreheads. (No wonder bangs are back!) Last I checked, I did not have this trait, but I've been wrong before. The evil eye is an unfriendly, indifferent or even blank gaze that just lasts a little too long. If you've seen Juno, then you might refer to this as The Stink Eye, not the evil eye. Anyway, after someone has given you the evil eye, you might find yourself thinking about that person shortly after and for most, if not all day long. Bad fortune is supposed to follow.
In Andrea's sister-in-law's case, she claims to have had weird dreams as a result of this Internet delivered evil eye. I, of course asked which site's she's been on because I'd like to avoid the stink eye myself. Andrea said she goes on social chat sites and believes that someone she might have chatted with put this eye on her. Hmmm. Ok. So this dumb bitch goes to see a priest, tells him her story; which by the way involves dreams of of someone on top of her in bed, and chasing her, or some shit like that. Given that she is so sheltered and basically has no life, I would think she would enjoy such a dream. What what do I know?
So Father So-and-So basically tells her that she's crazy. She must have something on her mind in order to have the dreams (yeah like hoping to one day get laid).
Other things I've learned about the Evil Eye are:
1. In Italy, it is believed that the Evil Eye can cause impotence. It dries up the semen. However a man can ward this off my making the Mano Cornuto symbol with his hand. Perhaps Dane Cook's Super Finger is for impotence as well. I dunno.
2. Jews may spit three times or say "peh-peh-peh", throw salt, or mutter "kein ayin hara" ("no evil eye") when they feel threatened by the evil eye.
3. You can buy amulets or other trinkets that will ward off the Evil Eye. In fact, I found a great Website called Evil Eye Store, where I think Andrea's sister in law can find the help that the priest was not able to provide. Perhaps Andrea should do her Christmas shopping on this site.
Well, that's it for now. I'm going to now go to Facebook and look just a little too long and enviously at some of my "friends" pictures. (Mua-Mua-Muah! Ah! Ah!)
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Letters to The Men in My Life
Dear Husband,
Happy Anniversary, dear.
For three years you've called me wife and I've called you husband, hubby, lovey... and most affectionately... "round head." Well, your head is quite round. While I was pregnant, you called me, "Round Belly," and I think now that I am no longer carrying a child, you should refrain from this errr, endearment.
This morning as I was finishing up the task of changing your son's diaper, I walked out of his room and past the bathroom, noticing something quite disturbing. One wet towel, a pair of boxers and one pair of shorts. You left your laundry on the floor again... right next to a rather empty hamper. We're been living together in what I can only call, ALMOST paradise for five wonderous years now. In that time, I can only imagine that I have told you a hundred or so times that of all the things you could possibly do, leaving laundry on the bathroom floor is the only thing that causes me to become enraged. (Wait, enraged? Is that too much? No! It's not too much. Because after five years, it's gone from, "Gee, that's annoying," to "PLEASE stop doing that," and finally to, "Motivator, please take care of this habit of yours before I cut off your balls and feed them to you.")
Anyhow, I thought you should know that you did it again, and I can only assume that you think it's funny. You probably think I've been kidding all these years, that I actually lovingly look at your laundry every morning on the bathroom floor and think of how lucky I am to be able to pick these articles of dirty clothing up for you.
Well, I'd like to reiterate to you today, on our anniversary... that I don't. And in case I didn't make myself clear, let me tell you that I will cut off your balls and feed them to you for dinner tonight if you don't start picking up after yourself in the mornings.
Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Now we can celebrate our marital bliss.
Your Loving Wife,
Sheri
Dear Son,
Please learn from yoru father's mistakes of you will one day meet the same fate.
Oh, and that was a very good poopie this morning. I'm so proud of you!
Your Loving Mommy.
Happy Anniversary, dear.
For three years you've called me wife and I've called you husband, hubby, lovey... and most affectionately... "round head." Well, your head is quite round. While I was pregnant, you called me, "Round Belly," and I think now that I am no longer carrying a child, you should refrain from this errr, endearment.
This morning as I was finishing up the task of changing your son's diaper, I walked out of his room and past the bathroom, noticing something quite disturbing. One wet towel, a pair of boxers and one pair of shorts. You left your laundry on the floor again... right next to a rather empty hamper. We're been living together in what I can only call, ALMOST paradise for five wonderous years now. In that time, I can only imagine that I have told you a hundred or so times that of all the things you could possibly do, leaving laundry on the bathroom floor is the only thing that causes me to become enraged. (Wait, enraged? Is that too much? No! It's not too much. Because after five years, it's gone from, "Gee, that's annoying," to "PLEASE stop doing that," and finally to, "Motivator, please take care of this habit of yours before I cut off your balls and feed them to you.")
Anyhow, I thought you should know that you did it again, and I can only assume that you think it's funny. You probably think I've been kidding all these years, that I actually lovingly look at your laundry every morning on the bathroom floor and think of how lucky I am to be able to pick these articles of dirty clothing up for you.
Well, I'd like to reiterate to you today, on our anniversary... that I don't. And in case I didn't make myself clear, let me tell you that I will cut off your balls and feed them to you for dinner tonight if you don't start picking up after yourself in the mornings.
Whew. I'm glad I got that off my chest. Now we can celebrate our marital bliss.
Your Loving Wife,
Sheri
Dear Son,
Please learn from yoru father's mistakes of you will one day meet the same fate.
Oh, and that was a very good poopie this morning. I'm so proud of you!
Your Loving Mommy.
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