Does This Mean I Have to Eat a Lamppost?

He's singin' in the. . .

. . .amniotic fluid.  

Swingin'*

Here's how a conversation between Cassie and me evolves (devolves).

First, I read a Dear Prudie column about a lady who seems only to be attracted to men who are swingers.

Then, I write to Cassie, telling her that I read the letter that she sent in to Prudie and that we all knew Hugh was a swinger all along.  She agrees, and wonders how she could ever have thought him so perfect.**

Later I found this article that discusses the top ten signs a couple will divorce.  Number one?  Being swingers.  So,  naturally, I sent it Cassie's way.

An exchange:

Cassie: Who knew swinging was such an issue?

Me: I think swinging is like camping.  It seems like it would be fun, but really it's just wet and gross and you wake up in the morning wondering why you make such bad life choices.

Cassie: Oh, and there are weird sounds you've never heard before and you are stuck in an uncomfortable bed all night wondering how in the world you got here.***


*The title of this post could also have been, "How the hell would I get through by day without email?"


**For the record, I don't think that Hugh and Cassie are getting divorced any time soon.


***It should also be noted, Grandma, that we are not swingers and have no plans to become swingers.

Leprosy Saturday.

So, I woke up today--at noon!  ha!--and was all gung-ho to get some stuff done around the house and to be a productive member of society.  And I actually did some stuff, you know, besides finish off the Sam's club-sized box of Nilla Wafers and talk to Shecky on the phone for an hour.  Everything was going A-okay, until I went to brush my teeth and looked in the mirror and saw this staring back at me.

I totally loved Mel Gibson in the mid '90s, before I knew that he was an abusive anit-semitic asshole. 

 I loved Tom Cruise, too.  As a teenager, I was not a good judge of celebrity character.

Mmm hmmm.  I have leprosy.

For real.  No, seriously.

How does this even happen?

Well, I kind of know how it happens.  You see, I blame these two.

Because they go out in our jungle of a back yard and run around in poisonous leprosy plants, and then they come back in the house and get on the couch, and on the pillows, and I pet them and hold them, and apparently rub their fur all over my face.  My face that has, apparently, the most sensitive skin that a person can have.  I am particularly allergic to leprosy plants.

The good news is that I won't be tempted to go out to eat or go to Target today because of the humiliating leprosy, so maybe I'll actually get stuff done at home.  Like giving the dogs baths and torching the back yard and washing every single fabric thing that touches me.

Does anyone know how to cure leprosy?  Windex?

Phew!

Um, uh, did we get a pet rabbit?

And is this rabbit trying to tell us something?

 

Nope.  Just a dingo who wanted a little midnight snack.  Phew!*

*Um, also, I was so relieved that it was only dog food in my bed, and not, in fact, excrement.  Where did my life go wrong?**

**Also, it's not like we often have excrement in our bed.***

***Ever.  It's not like we ever have excrement in our bed.