I played this game all the time as a kid with my Grandma. I see a marble and instantly am flooded with memories of her – and I want that for my kids. And I want to get their faces out of their electronic gadgets too. That’s a bonus.
Rambo invited friends over to our house this weekend. Nearly 25 years into this and still he does things like this that instantly cover me in hives.Sometimes I forget that I live in town. Or maybe sometimes I just wish that I didn’t. I grew up on a farm. In the country. If my brothers wanted to walk out the front door and write their names with their own pee on the sidewalk – they could. Nobody gave a damn.
I want to strangle him. Why can’t he just allow me to be a hermit who
never leaves the house? Sooo – looks like
I’ll be spending an entire afternoon trying to make my house look like a
magazine vs a hoarder’s house. Did I mention
I hate Rambo? Damn him and his social
No – I have no idea where I’m going with this. Oh wait – yes I do. Last night I had a brilliant (according to me) idea. I have a pretty big hosta garden with probably a good 50 varieties or more. I plant new ones each year and last year I decided to plant about 6 of the mini variety. Meaning tiny. They never get very big but they are super cute. I love the contrast between those and my extra large ones that are bigger than an arm span.Anyway – they are small when they are full grown and even butt ass tinier when they are newly planted and I hate that things like rocks and leaves “crowd them”. Sooo last night I gathered a bunch of old Tupperware and cut the bottoms off and decided I’d put them around my tiny babies to keep the landscaping rocks off of them.
It was raining. I live in town. I had on a tiny bright pink leopard tank with spaghetti straps. And no bra.
The girls were hanging out.I went outside anyway. I stood out there in the rain putting my little makeshift bowl fences around my precious babies and didn’t give a damn who saw me. Isn’t that stupid and weird?
I mean – shouldn’t I have more class than that? Or something?Don’t answer that. I say the neighbors are damn lucky that I had pants on.
Speaking of not having pants on…last night Rambo wanted to take a bath with me. Not a big deal. We do it probably 5 days a week but last night I didn’t want to. I was crabby and wanted to stay my happy ass on the couch.Next thing I know, he turns the TV off so that I’m now sitting in a dark, silent living room. He bends down and looks me straight in the eyes and points like a coon dog to the bathroom and then says GO…and walks away.
You can bet your sweet, feminine ass that I threw a fit that went something like this.“Did you just shut my show off and point at me and tell me where to go? You did NOT just point your finger at me. Did you? I mean really. Did you?”
Too bad he wasn’t listening. His happy, naked ass was already sitting in the hot bath.He knew I’d be there in a second. I hate that he knew I’d be in there. I hate that he knew I needed to lay there with his arms wrapped around me and talk to him about stupid life things that I was worried about.
He just knew. We stayed in there talking until the water got cold and then watched Frasier re-runs in bed – laughing so loud our girls yelled at us to be quiet.My life might be boring as hell - filled with checkers and stupid tiny plants – but it’s perfect to me.