Mrs. Magoo Strikes Again!

Have you ever noticed that when you buy a new car, suddenly everyone has your exact car????

Happens all the time.

Before I bought my car back in December, I knew that there were several in Frankfort that looked exactly like mine.  But I wanted a RAV4 and I wanted a blue one.

What I didn’t know was there are approximately 452 BILLION blue RAV4′s in Frankfort.

They are literally EVERYWHERE!!

I meet myself coming AND going.

And that’s hard to do, folks!!

But I love my car.

It was exactly what I wanted.  I wouldn’t change a thing.

Well, if I could, I would change what happened to me Saturday night.

Saturday was Dad’s birthday.

We weren’t sure if we would be able to celebrate it on his actual day because he had that procedure done on Thursday but up in the day on Saturday, Mom let us know that he was feeling pretty good and wanted to go to the Cracker Barrel.

Sounds good.

We met there, had a lovely supper and then we went out on the porch and visited at the Barrel for a couple of hours.

It was a nice night and we didn’t have to fight over the rocking chairs.

There were plenty to go around!!

As the evening passed by and the sky got a little darker, I decided I better go to my car and get some stuff I had for Molly and Mom.

The Mr. asked me if I wanted him to go get it and I should have said YES!!

But I assured him I could get it just fine.

What was I thinking???

Me??

Out in the dusky night???

Could I really take care of this on my own??

The answer to that is a resounding NO!!!

No, I cannot!!!

I head over to the car and when I passed by the car in front of it, there was a dude (or dudette, I really couldn’t tell) sitting in their car and smoking a cigarette.

Thankfully, they pulled their arm in before I got burned on their butt!!!

{Sorry, Mom, for saying “butt”}

I hit the button on my key to unlock the door as I go be-boppin’ past Smokey Smokerson.

The door wouldn’t open.

Well, I must have only hit it once and opened the driver’s door instead of twice for the passenger door.

I did it again.

Nothing.

Wouldn’t budge.

I hit the button for the third time and it dawned on me that the unlock “beep” was coming from behind me.

About 4 rows behind me.

I’m at the wrong bloomin’ car!!!!!

And right in front of Smokey!!!

What’s a Magoo to do???

I said (out loud) “Well this isn’t even my car!”

Now, if that’s not Me-maw I don’t know what is!!

~Mish~

 

Mish Goes To Town

I’m basically a small town girl.

Sure, I grew up in the Capitol City but to call Frankfort a “city” is really a stretch.  Frankfort actually doubles in population during the week because of state government, but on the weekends, we’re just a small town.

Yesterday my family traveled to the big city of Lexington because my dad was having a cardiac procedure.

Everything went well and he’s fine but whenever you take us small town folk to the big city, stuff is bound to happen.

And Mish is bound to find it funny.

The Mr. had to work so I was on my own to get to Lexington.  I asked Molly if we could ride together and she said sure but reminded me that she has no a/c in her car.

NO A/C IN HER CAR.

Well, that’s not hapnin’!!

Now before you go thinking that I’m an a/c snob, let me just tell you that I can live and even travel with no a/c (with some complaint!) but the end result is a hairdo much like Rod Stewart and since we were going to be in the public, I figured that was just too much!!!

So I decided that I would be big and brave and just drive us there myself.

We got to the hospital just in time to see Dad before they wheeled him away and that’s when I discovered that his doctor was Doogie Howser.

He was a little kid!!

It’s very disconcerting when your doctor and your preacher are younger than you.

It’s just wrong!!!

Anyway, we sat and waited and visited in the waiting room for a couple of hours and then we met with Doogie about the details (I love me some details) and instructions.

Then they wheeled Dad back in.  Bless his heart was he groggy!!!  But his hair was still perfectly coiffed.

How that man can get his fine-as-frog-hair ‘do to get that much height is beyond me.  No one else can duplicate it but it’s basically been the same as long as I can remember.

Check it out:

2000′s

1980′s

Same hair!!

{He’s gonna fuss at me because he’s lost a lot of weight since that more recent picture.}

One of the male nurses came in to see how he was doing and Dad kind of roused up a little.  The guy patted Dad’s foot and said “You’re going to need to be a couch potato for a while” and Dad mumbled something.  The nurse asked him to repeat what he said, so he did:

“Are you going to put butter and sour cream on me?”

We just cracked up!

Dad doesn’t remember that at all.

Once he was ready to be transferred to a regular room, Marti and Molly went out (in the pouring rain) to get us some burgers for lunch.  We decided to eat in the waiting room since there was only one chair in his room and Mom wasn’t budging!

The waiting room was a nice place with windows all around the room so you could see out in the hall but it was behind closed doors.  Probably because they knew we would be rowdy!  There were several men scattered around the room and no one had turned on the TV so it was pretty quiet.

That right there stumped me.

How can so many men sit in a room with a TV and not turn it on????

Then I noticed there was no remote.

‘Nuf said!

There were several vending machines and a little alcove with a counter and storage underneath.  Molly goes over to clean her hands with the hand sanitizer hanging on the wall.  We had seen these dispensers all over the hospital.

She pumps a bunch on her hands and starts rubbing them together.  As she’s getting lathery she looks at us and says “This is soap”.

“What??”

“This is soap. “

“It’s not hand sanitizer.”

“It’s soap.”

“There’s no sink.”

“There’s no water.”

“Where is the sink?”

“This is soap!”

At this point, the men are coming awake and starting to snicker.

Marti and I, on the other hand, are full out laughing at her!!!

She’s just standing there with her soapy hands in the air looking for a sink!!

We told her to just go to the bathroom.

“I can’t open the door!!!”

It was like an Abbott and Costello skit in there!

We laughed and laughed at her running up and down the hall looking for a sink!

While she was gone, Marti started to divvy up the food.  By this point we were all starving so I didn’t care who ordered what JUST GIVE ME FOOD!!!

Marti peeks in the first burger but, no, it’s not mine.  She sticks it in the crook of her arm and continues to dig in the bag.

I had just said “don’t drop your burger” when…….

PLOP!

Right in the floor!!!

Marti looks up at me and says, “Don’t worry.  That’s Molly’s!!”

By now we’re laughing so hard, we’ve driven all the men from the room.

I guess they just couldn’t take the antics of these small town girls!!

~Mish~

Family Ties

Yesterday I was gifted with some old family pictures.

My current boss has been a friend of my family since before I was born.  In fact, Patsy was at the old King’s Daughters Hospital the day I was born many, MANY years ago.

So when she told me she had found some pictures and was giving them to me, I was so excited.

I love old pictures.

And I love my old family. 

Now I had seen these pictures before but now I have my very own copies and I thought I’d share them with you.

This is a picture of Dad’s parents, Ira and Vera McLean (better known as Mawmaw and Pawpaw).  The picture was taken, I believe, at my parent’s wedding almost 50 years ago.

And here is one of Mom’s family.  I’m not sure what year this was taken but since Mom’s not in it, I am assuming it was right after she got married.

That’s Me-maw and Pe-paw (aka Cleora and Ernest Cannada) and those are Mom’s brothers, Ricky and Roger.

Now, this picture was an extra treat.

This is my Uncle Walter and Aunt Christine and their two daughters, Debbie and Patty Jo.

That Uncle Walter was quite a hoot.

All of my dad’s brothers are pretty funny and love to pick on and tease each other and really anybody else they are around.  I’m so thankful for their sense of humor that they so generously passed on to most of their offspring.

I can remember one time being at Mawmaw and Pawpaw’s house and when it was time to go, I was told to put on my socks and shoes.  I sat down in the floor and started to put my socks on.  Uncle Walter said “Your putting that sock on the wrong foot” so I jerked it off and started putting it on the other foot.  He said “No, that’s still the wrong foot”.  So off that sock came again as I switched feet.

I’d love to tell you that I caught on to the joke and that was the end of it but truth be told it went on and on with me putting the sock on and Uncle Walter “helping” me by telling me I was wrong.

It’s funny today but at the time it was very frustrating!!!

Uncle Walter got the biggest kick out of that!!

He’s been gone for a few years now and I sure do miss him.

And now for the most confusing part of my family………..Roger and Debbie.

 

Roger (my uncle) married Debbie (my cousin)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Confused yet????

I know!

This sounds like a crazy Southern thing where the family tree only has one branch, but let me assure you that it’s all legit and we have a somewhat normal family tree.

Actually the tree is normal, the family not so much.

Roger is Mom’s brother and Debbie is Dad’s niece (Uncle Walter’s daughter) so they are in no way blood relations.  But it makes Roger my uncle AND my cousin and Debbie is my cousin AND my aunt.

And their kids (Bryan and Shauna) are our first AND second cousins!

I won’t even begin to try to figure out what Bryan and Shauna’s kids are.

Second, third AND fourth???

So that’s my crazy family.

Please tell me yours is just as crazy!!!

~Mish~

Toots

Don’tcha just hate horn tooters??

Not tooters of actual horns. I’ve got no problem with those folks.  In fact, one of my favorite people in the whole world is a great saxophone player.

I’m looking at  you, Andrew!!!

The horn tooters I’m speaking of are the ones who brag about their own accomplishments.

If your accomplishment is so great, why not just wait for someone else to toot it for you?

Doesn’t it mean more to you if someone else toots your horn???

That doesn’t sound quite right.

Moving right along………

When I hear someone tooting their own horn, my usual reaction is to tune them right out.  And of course, an eye-roll is always involved.

It just gets on my ever-loving last nerve!

With that being said, let me say this:

TOOTIE-TOOT-TOOT

I came in the office this morning and was propositioned right off the bat!

You see, a co-worker had ordered his breakfast from the diner down the street and asked for 2 biscuits and gravy.  Well, since an order is 2 biscuits, they gave him 2 ORDERS and would I like one?

WOULD I LIKE ONE????

Are you new here????

Of course I would!!!!

And for a split second I thought about grabbing that biscuit and gravy, diving in and eating my way out.

But I’ve had a good food week.

I’ve stuck to my eating plan.

I’ve been HOT for 4 days in a row with today being day 5.

I’m planning to be COLD for the weekend.

Do I want this biscuit and gravy???

HECK YEAH I DO!

But the fact that I’m wearing a shirt today that I haven’t been able to fit into and that now looks GREAT helped me stay HOT.

So no, thank you, I’ll stick with my peanut butter on double-fiber bread sprinkled with hemp hearts.

Delicious!!

But tomorrow?

Now that’s another day all together! 

So now that you’ve heard my toot, feel free to toot about me the rest of the day!

~Mish~

Enjoy The Ride

I’m gonna let you in on a little secret.

I’m not very athletic.

I’m not even a LITTLE athletic.

I know….

Your shocked!

But in full disclosure, I let the Mr. in on this little tidbit early on in our marriage.

Of course, I waited until we were married just in case it was a deal breaker for him. 

He’s known for a long time now that any sort of physical activity, especially outside, just doesn’t work into my fitness plan.

My favorite workout is changing channels with the remote control.

That’s why it’s funny to me when he seems surprised that I don’t want to do athletic things.

Has he just met me???

A couple of years ago, when we still lived in NY, he convinced me in a weak moment to go bike riding with his brother, Mark.

Now Mark wasn’t as easily fooled as the Mr.

Or was the Mr. fooled at all??

Maybe I was such a catch that he didn’t want to risk me getting away.

Of course, since I’m so athletic, there’s little chance I could outrun him.

I’m fairly easy to catch!

But Mark found out way before he married Alyssa that she was in fact athletic and liked to do outdoorsy things.

I mean, these people barely even watch TV.

How can we possibly be related???

So I reluctantly agreed to go for the bike ride at the waterfront in Buffalo.  Mostly because I thought I could outwit the Mr.

How could I possibly go bike riding without a bike?????

No problem, said my extremely excited husband, you can ride Brian’s old bike.

Darn!

But again, I thought I had him.

Brian’s old bike was actually bought for Brian when he was in elementary school.

How could a woman, fully-growed, possibly ride a kid’s bike???

No problem, said the optimistic Mr., you’re the same height that Brian was when he used this bike.

Daggone it!!

One more shot…………I’m slightly heavier than Brian was (and is) so the bike will surely buckle under the weight.

No problem, said my now grumpy husband who had by this point figured out my scheme, this bike is nice and sturdy with big fat tires.

CAN I NOT CATCH A BREAK?????

So I resorted to the only other thing I could think of.

Prayer!

I prayed and prayed for rain on that Saturday.  I think I may have even done a rain dance but the day dawned bright and sunny with a nice breeze.  Perfect for a bike ride along the lake.

So I decided to put on my happy face and just enjoy it……..is what I SHOULD have done.

What I ACTUALLY did was gripe and complain and stomp around in the most ugliest of displays.  Me-maw would have surely flipped me for my rotten attitude.

And that poor Mr.

He had to drag along this pitiful excuse of a Southern lady.

So we met up with Mark and Alyssa and their oh so sweet daughter, Sarah, and we started to ride.

I kept reminding the Mr. in my sweetest, most loving voice to not get too close as I wobbled my way along the lakeshore.

And by sweetest, most loving voice, I mean that I was shrieking like a crazy woman!

I know…..I’m a joy.

But somewhere along the way, I started to enjoy myself.

Maybe it was the lake breeze.

Maybe it was the company.

Maybe it was the way I didn’t crash myself.

Whatever the reason, by the end of that ride I was ready for my own bike!

And that sweet Mr. of mine got me my own purple bike for my birthday that summer.

Of course, I had to get a different seat.  I asked the salesman if I could get a tractor seat or maybe a big ole bean bag seat but they didn’t have anything that big so I got the biggest one they make.

A few weeks ago the Mr. finally bought himself a new bike.  It’s really nice and he was so excited.  He’s been bugging me ever since to go riding and I’ve put  him off every time.

But last night I caved.

As soon as supper was over he was ready to go.  I was feeling a little full but wanted to be a good wife (for once) so I said I was ready.

The neighborhood that we live in is called Indian Hills.  All the streets are named after Indian tribes.  There’s Commanche, Chickasaw, Seminole, Creek, Iroquois, Chinook and even Ojibwa and Kickapoo.

But the Indian name is not the most important part of the name.

It’s called Indian Hills.

Indian HILLS.

HILLS!!!!

And there’s a good reason for that.

It’s right at a mile from my house to Molly’s house.

A mile is easy on a bike.

No problemo.

But it’s Indian HILLS!!!!

By the time we got up the first hill I was thinking that my supper was going to make another appearance.

I was huffin’ and puffin’ and if there hadn’t been so many red dots flashing in front of my eyes I probably would have pushed the Mr. over as he was riding circles around me in the most vulture-esque way.

We finally made it to Molly’s and after collapsing on her front walk for about half an hour, we made the trek back home.

Sadly, I had to push my bike up that last hill, but I did it.

I rode through Indian Hills!

I can’t walk this morning, but I did it.

And that’s what counts.

~Mish~

 

The Chase

When I was a kid, we lived just a few streets over from where the Mr. and I live now.  It’s kinda neat being back in the old neighborhood but things seemed so much bigger then.

Like the giant hill that Todd Manuel pushed me down in the first grade.   At the time, it seemed like I rolled down a mountain!

And Hiawatha, the busy street we were forbidden from riding our bikes on, but which Marti did anyway.  It doesn’t seem so busy any more.

But it’s a good thing I told on her though or else I wouldn’t have found out that she was actually riding on Chickasaw which was a parent-approved street.

Of course, Marti thinks I told on her because I was too young to read the street signs but I have a feeling it’s more because I was (WAS) a lie-ball.

Anyway, we have a lot of good memories growing up on our little dead-end street.  But one memory sticks out in my mind because it was just so bizarre.

It was the night that Molly got dragged out of bed by the police.

Let me start at the beginning:

It was a typical Wednesday night.  We were all in bed but I had woken up for some unknown reason.  Marti and I each had bedrooms in the basement so I started to go upstairs when I saw a light go by the kitchen window.  There was clearly someone outside of our house with a flashlight.

Now the only thing I’m really afraid of is EVERYTHING!!!!  So this put me in a tizzy! I ran to Marti’s room to wake her up.  She’s much braver than me, which by the way is fairly easy, but this freaked her out a little too.

Our problem was that the only way to get to Dad was to go upstairs, through the kitchen where we saw the flashlight and then through the living room with its big ole window.

Not gonna happen!!

So we decided that since Marti’s room was directly beneath Mom & Dad’s room, we would just beat on the ceiling until they woke up.  We grabbed a broom and started pounding away.

Nothing.

No reaction whatsoever.

These two were dead to the world.

How could they sleep at a time like this????

Then we had an idea.

Way back in the day, there was a way to call your own house with your own house phone.  I can’t remember now how we did it but we were going to give it a try.  But before we could get it figured out, the phone rang.

Now if I had been a little older and a little more worldly, I would NEVER have answered that phone.  Every horror movie ever made has one of these ominous phone calls.  DON’T PICK UP THE PHONE!!

But I went for it.

And so did Mom.

What transpired in that phone call was the most hysterical phone moment of my life.  Mom was so totally out of it and could not process what the caller was saying.  She just kept saying “Ed…..Ed……..”

Ed is my dad by the way.

So who was the caller??

The POLICE!!

Apparently they had been outside trying to wake us up for quite a while and then had the dispatcher call the house.  The nice policeman was telling Mom to go to the door and let the police in.  All he got in return was “Ed…..Ed………”

In the meantime, Dad had gotten up and gone to the front door.  As soon as we could stop laughing at Mom’s phone call, Marti and I hightailed it upstairs to see why in this world the police would be at our house in the middle of the night.

But first I must clarify.

By “middle of the night” I really mean about 11:00.

What can I say???  We’re tired people!!

So Dad goes to the door and there are polices and cop cars everywhere with lights just a flashin’!  There was also a strange car parked next to our tree out front.

And there stands Dad in his pants and t-shirt with no shoes.  That’s when my dear mother goes to the bedroom and brings him some slippers.

One of his and one of hers!!! 

Bless her heart, she’s not so good in the pre-middle of the night!

When Dad got to the door, the police asked if he had a blonde-headed daughter.

Why, yes he does.

They want to know if she’s been home all night.

No, the family had all been to church earlier in the night.

{Come on, Mr. Policeman, it’s Wednesday night, for crying out loud. }

The police want to see her.

{It’s never good to say for crying out loud to the polices.}

Dad explained that she’s asleep.

Now at this point I cannot believe that ANYONE could possibly be asleep but sure enough, Molly and Marc were both snoozin’ away!

The police insisted that they needed to see Molly.

Again, Mom stepped up to the plate.

She goes into Molly’s room, gently shakes her and says “Molly, the police want to talk to you”.

What a way to wake up!!!

Now Molly is in a panic.

Not because of the police, mind you, but because of her current state of being.  See, back in the good ole days, Molly would roll her hair at night on big ole pink sponge rollers.  Not only that but she has the most porcelain skin of anybody I know so she lotions it just like her Me-maw, which is to say that her face is so slick she can hardly keep it on the pillow.

So when Mom announces that she has been summoned by the police, she starts ripping out those curlers as fast as she can and trying to wipe that oil slick off her face at the same time.

Now the police think that things are taking too long and are starting to get antsy.  But when Molly finally appears at the door it becomes quite obvious that this girl hasn’t been out in a WHILE!!

About that time our neighbor, Mr. Fortune, calls out “There she is!”  He’s pointing across the street to another neighbor’s house so all the police go running after this girl.

Apparently, this blonde girl (who we still see around town) was driving drunk and when the police tried to pull her over, she led them on a chase through our neighborhood, driving through several yards, plowing down a big hedge row.  She then made the mistake of turning up our street.  When she got to the top of the hill in front of our house and realized that it was a dead-end, she smashed into the tree and hopped out of her car.  She was hiding behind our neighbor’s house.

They got her and hauled her off to jail.

And there we stood.

PJ clad.

Dad with his one slipper.

Molly with her unrolled-Phyllis-Diller hair and no makeup.

And where was Marc???

Fast asleep.

He misses all the good stuff.

~Mish~

 

Oh Yes They Call Him The Streak

One of the drawbacks to having a fluffy dog is that he makes at trip to the groomer once a month.  Not his favorite day but he endures it.

Spring finally decided to arrive here in KY and since the Mr. and I have started to shed coats, hats, gloves and galoshes, we figured it was time for the little guy to get his first summer haircut.

He gets so hot in the summertime with all that hair so yesterday I told them to take him pretty short.

Well, they took me at my word and MY WORD is he tiny!!

One of the ladies at the vet’s office even mentioned when I came to pick him up how much smaller he is with no hair.  And when they brought him out, I could see what she meant.

My poor boy was NAKED!

As a jaybird!!!

With his still-fluffy tail and his now-giant-looking head, he looks less like a fox and more like a lion.

He’s still cute as a little button.

Don’t you agree, Debra Ann????

Here’s some pictures we took when we got home:

For the record, they always put a ribbon around his neck and he absolutely hates it!  He’s constantly scratching at it until I take it off.

Probably because he looks like a sissy wearing it!

Oh…..and also for the record………

{Who exactly is keeping up with all these records???}

{It’s certainly not me!!}

……..we weighed him at the vet’s office and he has lost 1 pound and 1 ounce in the last month.

Of course, we don’t know if that’s a loss of body fat or hair but a victory nonetheless. 

~Mish~

A Throwback

I shared a few weeks ago about how Taj’s doctor said he needed to lose weight.

Well, actually he said “It wouldn’t  hurt if we saw less of of Taj”.

So really he could have been telling me to stop coming to the vet so often.

Of course,  he followed that up with “maybe 5 pounds less” and then they did the hard sell on diet dog food so I’m thinking he probably meant that Taj is a little fatty fat.

I’ve changed his food, I’ve tried to feed him less table scraps and, since the weather has warmed up, the Mr. has forced me to go along on a few more walks.

Though we have to call them “w’s” because Taj knows what “walk” means and he goes crazy with excitement and I’m filled with guilt if I’m too lazy to go, which is most of the time.

So with all these changes I really haven’t noticed any significant weight loss.

Which is weird because Taj is a boy and we all know that boys lose weight faster than girls!!!

Am I right, ladies????

Well, today I think I’ve stumbled onto the answer.

It’s not his fault that he’s big.

And more importantly, it’s not MY fault either.

He’s a throwback.

What is a throwback, you ask.

What?  You didn’t ask????

A throwback Pomeranian is “a full-grown adult Pom that is not overweight and is bigger than 14 pounds”.

That’s Taj!

And this is a real thing.

I saw it on the Facebook.

So that got me to thinking.

Am I really overweight???

Or am I just a Throwback?????

Hmmmmmmm……….

~Mish~

 

Toe Licks and the Devil

The Mr. and I had a pretty good weekend.

Not spectacular but all around pretty good.

Well, I guess it was good except for the furnace breaking.

But that’s really more of a Mr. issue.

It only affects me when I’m cold.

I’m not too concerned, though, cause the Mr. is all over it.

It’ll be fixed in a jiffy.

He’s good like that! 

Since spring has finally decided to show its face, I felt like it was time to tackle a job that I have let slide since last summer.  It’s one of those dreaded activities that I really wish I could pay someone to take care of.  But since I’m pushing for a pool this summer, I figure I better attempt it on my own.

It was time to make these nasty KY feet sandal-ready.

A Herculean task to be sure.

They are bad.

REALLY bad.

I’ve shared with you before my aversion to lotion and since I also dislike shoes, it makes for really scaly feet.

I dug deep into my arsenal of unused beauty supplies and found all sorts of sanders and files and whatnot to take the sharp edges off, so yesterday afternoon I set out to pretty up these tootsies.

I got a towel, sat in the middle of the living room floor and went to work.

It was at this point that I realized that Taj had about as much appreciation for the foot sander as he does the vacuum cleaner (another tool I largely ignore).  He barked and barked and barked and barked until I worried that he was disturbing the Mr. and his Guitar Hero playing so I opted for the manual version of the sander.

I started scraping and sanding and loofa-ing until, wouldn’t you know, the little guy had to get his nose right in there.

Taj, I mean.  Not the Mr.

Taj must have thought it was pretty nifty smelling because he then decided that what those toes needed was a good dog-lickin’.

I realize that by now I’ve lost my brother’s attention.

Marc is probably by now trying not to lose his lunch and hoping that the image of my KY feet (or any feet for that matter) is not burned into his mind to give him nightmares.

The boy hates feet!!

So I finally got to the point that the sander was too dull and the feet not so gross and since Taj had given them a good bath, I moved on to the painting of the toenails.

I begged and pleaded with the Mr. to do it for me but he was too busy staring in his “rock and roll band”.

Now to clarify, even if he had been staring at the four walls, there was no way he would have agreed to paint my toenails.

I mean, he loves me and all, but there are limits, I think.

Thankfully, once I opened the nail polish, Taj took a hike!  He can’t stand the smell.

That’s pretty bad when a smell is so bad that a dog runs away.

My dad always said that if the military could figure out how to load the stuff on a missile, we’d win any war.

He exaggerates a tad.

I finally got some color slathered on there (I have a problem staying in the lines) and even painted my finger nails.  I fancied them up with a little glitter which is now on EVERYTHING!!

So this morning, I hoped right out of bed (yeah, right!) and put on a cute pink top that Marti had given me (another plus of losing weight!), slipped into my sandals and my cute denim jacket with the rhinestone butterflies that I had gotten when the Mr.’s Aunt Betty passed away (that lady had some cute clothes!!) and as I’m parading down the boulevard, the devil decided that I felt a little bit too good about myself and he was gonna put a stop to it.

He’s mean like that!

I noticed a woman walking ahead of me.

She was tall and slender and young enough that she doesn’t yet use words like “slender”.

She was dressed in a black business dress that was cut right above her knees and she was wearing a black trench coat and black high heels and was carrying a briefcase.  Very professional looking.

As I walked through the haze of perfume that was definitely not Jean Nate, I suddenly felt like a short, fat girl wearing hand-me-down clothes.

But then it hit me.

That poor girl had not one rhinestone on her clothes.

And there was no glitter on her nails.

That poor, poor girl.

How does she even get through the day dressed like that???

I added her to the church prayer list.

Bless her heart!

~Mish~

I Have the Power

When my brother was little, he loved super heroes.

His all time favorite was the Incredible Hulk.  He would tell us “You won’t like me when I’m angry” and proceed to grit his teeth and shake like he was transforming into the green guy.

It was quite hysterical.

Another favorite was He-man.

Marc watched that cartoon every day.  In each episode, He-man would protect the world from the evil Skeletor with the “Power of Grayskull”.

Personally, I think He-man could have used a good haircut!

I found out today that apparently I have the power as well.

Not the “Power of Grayskull” but the “Power of Laziness”.

Yes, I know.

You’re shocked!

When we lived in Silver Creek, there was a local restaurant called Red’s Pizza Express.  They served pizza and wings (big surprise!) and had the best subs.

The subs were so good that my friend, Cara, still talks about the sub she ate from there when she came to visit 11 years ago!!!

Now that’s a good sub!

Actually, everything was good at Red’s.

But the very best part was that Red’s delivered.

No need to cook.

No need to clean.

No need to even get up outta your chair.

Well, ok, you have to get up when they get to your house.

They won’t just walk in.

That would be weird.

I have to say that to-your-door delivery is the best invention.

I’m still waiting for grocery delivery.

That would be awesome!!

We ordered so often from Red’s that we eventually started getting Christmas cards.

From Red’s!!!

How embarrassing.

I asked around and nobody else that I knew got a Christmas card from Red’s.

Just us.

When you start getting Christmas cards from a restaurant, you are eating there way too much.

Today I found out on the Facebook that Red’s has officially closed.

That’s when I realized the power that is within me.

The Power of Laziness.

It was my laziness that kept Red’s in business all those years.

And it was my moving my laziness back to Kentucky that forced Red’s to close.

To all my friends in Silver Creek, I’m so sorry.

I should have used my power for good and not evil.

Goodbye, Red’s.

You will be missed.

~Mish~