Who's on First?

Sick of seeing my pretty flowers yet? Yes? This will be the last time I'll show them to you, okay? Deal? Actually, I put them up today as a point of reference, and also because I am really amazed at how well they are holding up. Just today they are starting to show signs of wilting. Pretty impressive, isn't it? They have outlasted my funk, which is cool (might even be cause to celebrate, cause that is a feat in itself). I don't know if it has been the moon phase, the month, the impending holidays, or what; but I am totally over myself. Gawd! I have been walking around with a dark cloud for a while now but it appears to be lifting. I kind of sensed it last night, when while trying to go to sleep I had the song 'Jive Talkin' going through my mind. It's kind of hard to be bitchy...yanno? Until that song turns me homicidal, then watch out. But it could be worse, it could be 'It's a small world'.

At any rate, I digress! When The Leester bought me the roses, I made mention about what The Wee said regarding all of it, that they were a thank-you gift; for having my legs waxed. Which? Implies ugly, hairy legs in need of some serious attention. Like European women's Olympic softball team hairy. And that, my friends, is some seriously scary shit and may even cost me my readership! Wouldn't you say it's time I defend myself??

You see, here is the thing. I am not an overly girly-girl. I never really have been and odds are, I never will be. I do not wear much make-up. Rarely, in fact, and even less so than I might, given the fact that my husband and son hate it. They don't have any problems with how it looks, but The Leester? The dude cannot handle the smell of face powder. Or any make-up, for that matter. You see, he has this thing. This thing where twice in his life, he has been the last person the dying have spoken to. One of those people was his Grandmother, who spoke to him (and only him) from her death-bed. His Grandmother must have smelled like face powder or something, because now? The face powder smells like death to The Leester. And that? That really isn't the vibe I am into sending The Hubs, most days. As I am sure you can understand, right? Consequently, no make-up for this chick. Which really, works in my favor. I don't have to deal with it! My skin is pretty decent without it, thank God and good genes, and that is that. Done. Not only that, but my husband has this mysterious power to kill women in make-up!

Can ya blame me for refraining??

So anyways! I am neither a real girly-girl in the make-up, high heels sense, nor am I a hairy chick. (Thank God!) While that much is true, its not like I just don't bother shaving my legs or whatever, which brings me back to my point. Rather circuitous and difficult route to follow that it has been thus far; I know! Stay with me! While I am neither overly girly or overly hairy (shew), I certainly do have my vanities. My hair (the hair on my head!), for example. You don't want to mess with the hair, because someone might die. Most are not even allowed to touch my hair. It's just a thing, okay? A thing as a result of everybody wanting to do exactly that. Pet my hair as I walk by. (What is it about long, naturally curly hair of the reddish variety that people just feel like they have to touch it? Or grab a handful and sniff it?? Ugh!) Also, my skin. My skin must be soft and silky, without blemish. Such as the kind of blemish that I self inflict, every. damn. time. I. shave. my. legs! (Perhaps I am not so coordinated either and should not be trusted with sharp objects, alright? Such as the disposable razor. Ask me about the drawer of doom sometime. Oy!) Soooo anyways, I decided to tough it out for a couple weeks and have my legs waxed. Which is where The Wee's statement came from. It just so happens that the day The Leester gave me the roses was the day I had the gams waxed.

Which? Religious. Stay tuned tomorrow, I'll tell you about it.

Perhaps I'll also let you know if I made the cut for the European Women's Olympic Softball team.

Steeee-Rike!