I haven’t taken a formal leave of absence from school but I can only attend the one class that doesn’t require me to use my broken arm. Hand. Wrist. Whatever, I’m sick of it. My cast, artistically decorated at Passover by the children’s table, is as filthy as a street beggar in Calcutta. The fact that the inside of the cast makes my arm smell like a foot only makes me wonder what a foot cast smells like. Being a HUGE fan of cleanliness, I took the obsessively proactive route. Meaning that if all the Oscar de la Renta powder I’ve dumped inside that cast was cocaine, Courtney Love would be living in my bathroom.
A student in the one class I do attend asked me when I was getting the cast off and I told her ten days. She said, “Wow, that went fast.” It cracked me up because it reminded me of when I was pregnant with Daughter and it was a steamy day in July and I was the size of Rhode Island. I was standing on line in the local drugstore watching my feet swell when a neighbor spotted me and asked when I was due. In response to my wilted “Any day,” she shook her head in amazement and said, “Oh my, didn’t that go fast!” I was holding a roll of wrapping paper at the time and I remember thinking how much her head looked like a pinata. I think I showed remarkable restraint. For a fat girl.
Over the weekend I went to Marshall’s because Husband’s birthday is coming up in May and he loves strawberry rhubarb preserves and I don’t find it anywhere but Marshall’s. Weird, right? Speaking of which, what’s weirder, buying jam at Marshall’s or buying your husband jam for his birthday? Probably a draw. On the slow-moving cashiers’ line, the woman ahead of me picked up a tin of cookies from a nearby display and said to me, “Who would buy food at Marshall’s?”
I held up my jam and she stammered that it was probably perfectly good food and who could know nowadays with people dying from Taco Bell, etc. We reminisced a bit about tainted baby food and dead mice in Coke bottles and then she said that the puffed cereal her husband eats for breakfast every day was recalled this week for possible toxins and she wasn’t surprised because he’d been complaining of sharp stomach pains. She said it was extra scary because she’d put some in the dog’s bowl but thankfully he hadn’t eaten it. And I’m standing there on line thinking, oh yeah, let’s make sure nothing happens to the dog before you send your husband off to get his stomach pumped. But by all means first finish up your shopping here at Marshall’s.
Next.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos inspire us to ask What Are We Looking At?
computer parts
the anti-allstate
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And Counting
I haven’t taken a formal leave of absence from school but I can only attend the one class that doesn’t require me to use my broken arm. Hand. Wrist. Whatever, I’m sick of it. My cast, artistically decorated at Passover by the children’s table, is as filthy as a street beggar in Calcutta. The fact that the inside of the cast makes my arm smell like a foot only makes me wonder what a foot cast smells like. Being a HUGE fan of cleanliness, I took the obsessively proactive route. Meaning that if all the Oscar de la Renta powder I’ve dumped inside that cast was cocaine, Courtney Love would be living in my bathroom.
A student in the one class I do attend asked me when I was getting the cast off and I told her ten days. She said, “Wow, that went fast.” It cracked me up because it reminded me of when I was pregnant with Daughter and it was a steamy day in July and I was the size of Rhode Island. I was standing on line in the local drugstore watching my feet swell when a neighbor spotted me and asked when I was due. In response to my wilted “Any day,” she shook her head in amazement and said, “Oh my, didn’t that go fast!” I was holding a roll of wrapping paper at the time and I remember thinking how much her head looked like a pinata. I think I showed remarkable restraint. For a fat girl.
Over the weekend I went to Marshall’s because Husband’s birthday is coming up in May and he loves strawberry rhubarb preserves and I don’t find it anywhere but Marshall’s. Weird, right? Speaking of which, what’s weirder, buying jam at Marshall’s or buying your husband jam for his birthday? Probably a draw. On the slow-moving cashiers’ line, the woman ahead of me picked up a tin of cookies from a nearby display and said to me, “Who would buy food at Marshall’s?”
I held up my jam and she stammered that it was probably perfectly good food and who could know nowadays with people dying from Taco Bell, etc. We reminisced a bit about tainted baby food and dead mice in Coke bottles and then she said that the puffed cereal her husband eats for breakfast every day was recalled this week for possible toxins and she wasn’t surprised because he’d been complaining of sharp stomach pains. She said it was extra scary because she’d put some in the dog’s bowl but thankfully he hadn’t eaten it. And I’m standing there on line thinking, oh yeah, let’s make sure nothing happens to the dog before you send your husband off to get his stomach pumped. But by all means first finish up your shopping here at Marshall’s.
Next.
Daughter’s Featured Fotos inspire us to ask What Are We Looking At?
computer parts
the anti-allstate
mama of truth
wall sitting