There's a couple of things that happen every time we visit.
- We fall asleep at about 8:45pm. We tried to stay up one night, but both of us collapsed on the sofa after about 40 seconds. I woke up three hours later, my face planted in the crevice where the bottom cushion meets the back cushion. In other words, in the one place on the ENTIRE sofa where there is no cushion. But that's fine. I made my own pillow. Out of drool. Oh, that was gross, wasn't it?
"It's looks a lot like your hair, but it's not fake blonde. It's real blonde."
By this point, I've fallen down. GrandMere is chasing Happy through the house, trying to get him to put on the "real blonde" wig. [Editor's Note: Correct me if I'm wrong here, but no matter the color, or dye job, isn't real hair preferable? It would seem not so much. -Kate] Happy is screaming like it's a giant hairy octopus. And then when I actually put it on to show him it's not scary, he says, "it looks the same."
And then, later during our visit:
"Guess what I joined? I'll give you a thousand guesses and a million dollars."
I slapped the table and yelled, "An island tribe who communicate by blowing conch shells!"
She frowned at me. "No, but again, you're close and that's creepy."
She's joined the Coast Guard Auxiliary. OK. That sounds good. What does the Coast Guard Auxiliary do?
The next thing I hear is spitty, flagellant-y blasts coming from the kitchen. In walks Happy. With. A. Bugle.
"Wow. It is a bugle."
You know, if I put on the wig, I sorta look like the mummified head of Helen Hayes. I think I'm going to put *that* in my obituary.
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010