Greetings and salutations my faithful minions…..er….lovely readers. It has been a busy few days for us to be sure.
My darling, well behaved, clean, intelligent, special children accompanied me to the local farmers market this morning in our quest for healthy morsels to put in our tummies. We proceeded to stock a cart full of nuts, seeds, butters, wood chips, finishing salt, concluding salt, indecisive salt, organic whipping cream, organic free range donuts, a woman named Maria who I have hired to be our live-in tortilla maker, eggs (so I can make leftover scrambled eggs), and veggies. Whilst waiting in line, wondering why I am being made to wait because I’m famous and shit, the customer in front of me became irate and argumentative with the cashier. He told the cashier, “Excuse me, I think you rang this up as kale when it is, in fact, a bunch of parsley.” The cashier denied making the mistake, and the customer raised his voice and started to explain again. I had no choice but to act as my body surged with adrenaline, caffeine, and laxatives. I threw my arms up in the air and yelled, “EVERYONE STAY CALM! THERE IS AN IRATE TERRORIST IN THE STORE. DON’T WORRY! I AM ADORED THE WORLD OVER AND WILL HANDLE THE SITUATION. NOBODY MOVE.” I immediately ushered Footlong, 6-inch, Maria, and all of the women and children out of the store. I proceeded to get on Facebook and Twitter and ask for advice. I was immediately inundated with people responding that I was the bravest chick they had ever met and that I was overreacting. I apologized to the cashier and customer and gave them my business card and a coupon for 50% off of their first order of personalized rubber bands if they sign up for autoship and refer three friends. I left the store with a springy pep in my step feeling good that I had served humanity in a small way and felt justified in drinking a bag of M&Ms on the way home from the life or death episode I was a part of with. No need to thank me, my dear public. You’re welcome! I have also called all of the local news stations as well as the major networks to tell them of my actions.
Footlong has been busy soaking up the summer time and sun that is almost over with a new month starting and school time approaching to boot. Tonight he is directing the Tucson Symphony Orchestra.
6-inch is….erm….well….he’s just 6-inch. He enjoys watching the Olympics with me. I rigged a 1 meter springboard atop our bathtub (we are renting) and tried to teach him an inward double somersault, but he proceeded to squeal “DA DA DA DA DA!” urinate in the water. I then fashioned a baby pommel horse for him to work on his upper body strength, and he looked at me eyes and mouth open with confusion and drool. I explained what a pommel horse is and he grabbed it and tried to gnaw on the handles. Worry about that child I do with worrisome worry that can only be defined as worried.
That is enough for right now. In dusting the entertainment center this morning I noticed that our TV has a little extra space around it from the walls of the center, so I’m off to buy a new TV that fits.
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Acme Personalized Rubberbands
“Let me help you get your stretch on!”
This is a obviously a work of fiction. There was no terror attack at the farmers market over kale and parsley. I am not on twitter. Footlong and 6-inch are playing with each other right now, and I am about to make macaroni and cheese for lunch. If this post didn’t make you laugh you need to get a sense of humor. And I just realized that I didn’t say “fuck” in the entire post. I’m losing my touch.