Err... well... for my tush anyway.
Here I am, having been saintly for soooooo long and ZAP! In an instant, all my saintliness flushed down the commode. It's almost enough to make me give up Twinkies.
The giant squid is acting like a baboon butthead! And I told him so. So there! And let me just add that was not the smartest thing I've ever said to someone who is 6 feet 5 inches tall and has a hand as large as any I've ever seen. Truly, it's a very sad state of affairs.
It's "Run Amok Week!"
And he doesn't care.
I care.
Ya see... it's like this: Santa has completed his annual trek around the globe and is resting...
Mrs. Claus has shredded the 2005 "naughty vs nice" list. The new list doesn't begin until January 1, 2006.
Which means...
December 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, & 31, 2005 = 6 days when Santa isn't keeping track of who is naughty and who is nice!
It's a FREE zone!
We are free to run amok without fear of retribution! And since Santa isn't taking notes, then it's obviously a run amok/spank-free week.
I look forward to this week all year long and His Holiness, who is currently grumpy about something is being very "ghost of past run amok weeks" because... hmmm... because... well... there was that time when I was mad at him and put a little too much dye in the washing machine and his white boxers ended up more carmine than pink and he was in summer whites at the time and it was Christmas in July... sort of... and... For fear he would match my tush with his boxer shorts, I... um... took a leisurely ride - about 6 hours away - to the end of the earth on this side of the planet. And even though I feared I'd fall off the edge... that didn't scare me half as much as the giant squid's excessively hard and heavy hand painting my tush carmine.
Oyyyyy, I've lost my train of thought. A tush painted the color of his port wine does that to me. By the time he caught up with me, I was in deep doo-doo but he was so happy to see me, I got lots of cuddling and loving. The spanking that followed wasn't as bad as it might have been. He was more upset about my taking off for a few days than his deep red boxer shorts. Err... he had to buy more undies so he could get through the summer without being snickered at. He must have dozens of boxers... maybe I should buy more dye... just in case. Hmmm.
One "run amok" week I managed to get David's email password - don't ask - and I sent a "Nobody loves me" email to a few websites... the kind that cater to men loving men. Two years later, the sexy devil dog still gets offers. (Frankly, I think I'm way too good to this man.) The giant squid accused ME of sending that email! Can you believe that? Err... the question was rhetorical; you don't have to reply.
If that wasn't bad enough, Herr Baboon Butthead also accused me of sending a large spinning top to the base commandant for Christmas. (The base commandant is ALWAYS spinning his; everyone says so.) Not true! I made sure it arrived *after* Christmas.
And then... the piece de resistance of "run amok" weeks was the weekly flower bouquet I sent myself with love notes attached. His Holiness was furious! And jealous! And demanded to know who they were from. I told him I sent them, of course - which I had - but he didn't believe me! Oh! That was so much fun. After much contemplation, the giant squid decided I needed far more attention and gave me the kind I wanted.
Um... let me add that it's possible I shouldn't have charged all those flowers to his credit card... When the bill arrived I just happened to be at the mall waxing enthusiastic over the shoes on sale and then the chocolate shoppe across the aisle had samples of imported goodies and by the time I got home - with shoes and chocolate... Is there a better combination than that? I was flying pretty high.
He never said anything else about the flowers but he did warm my butt over the bill - tsk. He did add that he wanted to match the color of my tush to the color of the flowers but hey! I didn't just fall off a turnip truck! I had ordered *white* flowers and a just a few that were very very lightly stained pink. Whewwww. The butt warming I got for the bill stung like the dickens but there's something to be said for feeding one's ardor on a bed of petals. ~ sigh~
Soooo when I announced it was "run amok" week, he rolled his eyes and unfortunately, also rolled his sleeves. Aacckkk! I might have to run away again.
~Sar~
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Happy Holidays!
Quick Note
Cowboy here - the imp is in the kitchen putting final touches on our holiday dinner and more than likely sneaking treats to the dogs. They sit under the kitchen table when she's cooking ready to sample what she's making. Bull is here and he is sitting at the same table and telling her he needs to give her food a taste test. David is adjusting young Patrick's new stationery bicycle. I'm drinking my Merlot in peace for a change.
Traditionally, Sar and I spend Christmas Eve alone. She always makes a special dessert for the 2 of us and we sit in front of the fire and sip a little wine and remember other times. We open just 1 gift then and save the rest for Christmas morning. The imp spends a great deal of time deciding which one to open. She is usually overwhelmed by what is there and I have to pick 1 for her.
I don't know if she will tell you this but on Christmas Eve - before we get settled in front of the fire and before I come into the room - Sar gives me my first gift. She wraps a large red bow around her hips and another around her breasts. When I come into the room I find her under our tree and waiting to be unwrapped. It is the best gift I ever receive and each year it just gets better. I have said this before. I will say it again. I am a lucky man.
I want to thank you for your gift of friendship to Sar and to me. I also add my thanks to those of you who read my wife's writing. I am very proud of her even when I am included in her stories as a Neanderthal. Rest assured I love her very much.
Here's to a happy holiday season and a New Year with greater peace!
Cowboy
Cowboy here - the imp is in the kitchen putting final touches on our holiday dinner and more than likely sneaking treats to the dogs. They sit under the kitchen table when she's cooking ready to sample what she's making. Bull is here and he is sitting at the same table and telling her he needs to give her food a taste test. David is adjusting young Patrick's new stationery bicycle. I'm drinking my Merlot in peace for a change.
Traditionally, Sar and I spend Christmas Eve alone. She always makes a special dessert for the 2 of us and we sit in front of the fire and sip a little wine and remember other times. We open just 1 gift then and save the rest for Christmas morning. The imp spends a great deal of time deciding which one to open. She is usually overwhelmed by what is there and I have to pick 1 for her.
I don't know if she will tell you this but on Christmas Eve - before we get settled in front of the fire and before I come into the room - Sar gives me my first gift. She wraps a large red bow around her hips and another around her breasts. When I come into the room I find her under our tree and waiting to be unwrapped. It is the best gift I ever receive and each year it just gets better. I have said this before. I will say it again. I am a lucky man.
I want to thank you for your gift of friendship to Sar and to me. I also add my thanks to those of you who read my wife's writing. I am very proud of her even when I am included in her stories as a Neanderthal. Rest assured I love her very much.
Here's to a happy holiday season and a New Year with greater peace!
Cowboy
Monday, December 19, 2005
T - 6 Days and Counting!
Remember that bit about being saintly? I'm not sure how long one has to be saintly to be canonized but I'm sure I'm close. I thought I'd call the Catholic priest at the church that Cowboy occasionally visits and ask him. To say he was frightened that I had called is an understatement. Not sure if he was scared I might want to join his flock and influence the other parishioners or if he thought he was having a conversation with someone who was not nearly as saintly as purported.
Tsk.
There was quite a bit of background noise while we were talking. Err... I was talking; he was giving his Rosary beads a pretty good workout... I was afraid he'd stroke out so I decided to google saints and canonization. Google had a lot of information but nothing on being saintly so long just prior to Christmas.
Then I had an epiphany! No, didn't call the Greek Orthodox priest - I called Ms.KeptWoman a.k.a. Lady Chatterly. She lives in my neighborhood and is "kept" by a very wealthy man who visits her monthly. He lives in Europe and comes here on business. I've seen him a few times; very debonair and silver-haired and obviously well-off. He's very generous to her and what they do behind closed doors is not anything she talks about. I have a fertile imagination. I can guess what they do.
Anyway, Lady Chatterly gets a LOT of presents ALL the time. So I invited her over for coffee and babka and asked her about saints and canonization. She assured me that canonization wasn't all it's cracked up to be. She says you get to be sought after for a day now and then and after a year or so, people forget to pray to you. Bummer!
She said it's better to be slightly naughty because that makes "Santa" give you far more attention and that the attention you get invariably leads to "stuff" and new leather boots and pretty lingerie and the latest best selling books and plenty of imported chocolates.
Ohhhh... I could live with that.
"What kind of naughty things do you suppose I should get into?" I asked.
"Just be yourself, Sar. I'm sure that will do it."
Hmmm... was that a dig... or was she being complimentary? Tsk. I might not give her that chestnut cheesecake for Christmas, after all.
So... thinking naughty might be the way to go... I just happened to hear the giant squid get out of bed in the wee hours. When he didn't come right back, I got up to investigate. There was a light on downstairs. Just as my feet reached the last step on the staircase and I was ready to sneak into the family room to see what he was up to...
"That better be one of the pups coming down the stairs and not an imp who should be in bed," the soft but firm voice announced.
Jeez!
"And if I catch you," his voice got just a little louder, "you'll be sleeping on your belly!"
Crumb! Who knew Santa could be so stern? I rushed back to bed and when he came upstairs, I feigned sleep.
"I know you're awake, Sar."
SWAT!
Mumble... groan... whine... complain...
The temperature has really dropped so the next morning the giant squid was in the backyard checking the heaters in the kennels. I knew that would take a while so I decided to check the downstairs closet in case Santa had made an early delivery. I was standing on a chair... reaching up to one of the top shelves... certain there was a huge box there I didn't remember seeing before.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Good God! The man has radar!
Before I could even think of a reason for being there... dusting the cobwebs, dear... rearranging stuff... thought I heard a noise...
I was over his shoulder and his grizzly paw was pounding away like a little drummer boy! How is it the man can laugh and spank and climb stairs at the same time? This is not my idea of multi-tasking and I told him so.
Oy! Bad idea.
It's one thing to get spanked for fun and another to get a firm swat just because the target was available as he was passing by. But to get spanked because His Holiness thinks I might be up to something naughty... even if I was? Double tsk!
"Do you know why I am spanking you, imp?"
Yes, it's because you're anal retentive.
"Because you're a baboon butthead!"
"Wrong answer."
SWAT!
Jeez!
"Poke your nose into places it has no business being and your tush is gonna be as red as Santa's suit."
"You're jumping to conclusions," I told him. "I needed to get something out of that closet."
"You're a terrible liar, Sar," the Neanderthal chuckled as he delivered another firm swat.
"Hey!" I protested. "I've been an absolute saint!"
"A what?"
Would you believe he had the nerve to laugh?
"That was really very rude of you," I said, rubbing my butt as he turned me over on his lap.
"Is this rude, too, baby?" he asked, his hands and mouth beginning to do very naughty things.
~ sigh ~
The band played on... "stuff" ensued and I still have to get into that closet to see what's in that big box.
~ Sar ~
6 days = 144 hours = 8,640 minutes = 518,000 seconds until Santa's sleigh lands on my roof, slides off because of black ice and the jolly ol fat man lands on his butt in my backyard where my two attack-trained Rottweilers will nose around in his giant bag to see if he brought them liver flavored biscuits.
Tsk.
There was quite a bit of background noise while we were talking. Err... I was talking; he was giving his Rosary beads a pretty good workout... I was afraid he'd stroke out so I decided to google saints and canonization. Google had a lot of information but nothing on being saintly so long just prior to Christmas.
Then I had an epiphany! No, didn't call the Greek Orthodox priest - I called Ms.KeptWoman a.k.a. Lady Chatterly. She lives in my neighborhood and is "kept" by a very wealthy man who visits her monthly. He lives in Europe and comes here on business. I've seen him a few times; very debonair and silver-haired and obviously well-off. He's very generous to her and what they do behind closed doors is not anything she talks about. I have a fertile imagination. I can guess what they do.
Anyway, Lady Chatterly gets a LOT of presents ALL the time. So I invited her over for coffee and babka and asked her about saints and canonization. She assured me that canonization wasn't all it's cracked up to be. She says you get to be sought after for a day now and then and after a year or so, people forget to pray to you. Bummer!
She said it's better to be slightly naughty because that makes "Santa" give you far more attention and that the attention you get invariably leads to "stuff" and new leather boots and pretty lingerie and the latest best selling books and plenty of imported chocolates.
Ohhhh... I could live with that.
"What kind of naughty things do you suppose I should get into?" I asked.
"Just be yourself, Sar. I'm sure that will do it."
Hmmm... was that a dig... or was she being complimentary? Tsk. I might not give her that chestnut cheesecake for Christmas, after all.
So... thinking naughty might be the way to go... I just happened to hear the giant squid get out of bed in the wee hours. When he didn't come right back, I got up to investigate. There was a light on downstairs. Just as my feet reached the last step on the staircase and I was ready to sneak into the family room to see what he was up to...
"That better be one of the pups coming down the stairs and not an imp who should be in bed," the soft but firm voice announced.
Jeez!
"And if I catch you," his voice got just a little louder, "you'll be sleeping on your belly!"
Crumb! Who knew Santa could be so stern? I rushed back to bed and when he came upstairs, I feigned sleep.
"I know you're awake, Sar."
SWAT!
Mumble... groan... whine... complain...
The temperature has really dropped so the next morning the giant squid was in the backyard checking the heaters in the kennels. I knew that would take a while so I decided to check the downstairs closet in case Santa had made an early delivery. I was standing on a chair... reaching up to one of the top shelves... certain there was a huge box there I didn't remember seeing before.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Good God! The man has radar!
Before I could even think of a reason for being there... dusting the cobwebs, dear... rearranging stuff... thought I heard a noise...
I was over his shoulder and his grizzly paw was pounding away like a little drummer boy! How is it the man can laugh and spank and climb stairs at the same time? This is not my idea of multi-tasking and I told him so.
Oy! Bad idea.
It's one thing to get spanked for fun and another to get a firm swat just because the target was available as he was passing by. But to get spanked because His Holiness thinks I might be up to something naughty... even if I was? Double tsk!
"Do you know why I am spanking you, imp?"
Yes, it's because you're anal retentive.
"Because you're a baboon butthead!"
"Wrong answer."
SWAT!
Jeez!
"Poke your nose into places it has no business being and your tush is gonna be as red as Santa's suit."
"You're jumping to conclusions," I told him. "I needed to get something out of that closet."
"You're a terrible liar, Sar," the Neanderthal chuckled as he delivered another firm swat.
"Hey!" I protested. "I've been an absolute saint!"
"A what?"
Would you believe he had the nerve to laugh?
"That was really very rude of you," I said, rubbing my butt as he turned me over on his lap.
"Is this rude, too, baby?" he asked, his hands and mouth beginning to do very naughty things.
~ sigh ~
The band played on... "stuff" ensued and I still have to get into that closet to see what's in that big box.
~ Sar ~
6 days = 144 hours = 8,640 minutes = 518,000 seconds until Santa's sleigh lands on my roof, slides off because of black ice and the jolly ol fat man lands on his butt in my backyard where my two attack-trained Rottweilers will nose around in his giant bag to see if he brought them liver flavored biscuits.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Saintly!
You're all a bunch of voyeurs. I'm not saying that's a bad thing but I have this feeling you're just waiting for me to stop being so saintly... and do something that will get the giant squid's attention so that a hand-to-tush dialogue takes place.
Tsk.
Bunch of voyeurs.
The other day I was especially saintly. I had a roast in the oven, all the side dishes ready to be warmed up and the table set for the two of us. I even put candles on the table and fresh flowers. Is that saintly? Ubetcha! Of course, I sacrificed my own health to make sure His Holiness had plenty of veggies. I gave him my share along with his. Talk about saintly!
So, I'm in my sewing studio and auditioning fabrics on my design wall for a wonderful new creation that currently resides only in my head. In the course of continuously bending down to select fabric swatches, the drawstring on my sweat pants came loose. Wouldn't you know that the moment my pants fell to my ankles... the giant squid came into the room! I was bent over, my tush - ivory at that particular moment - was obviously a target he couldn't resist!
SWAT!
Jeez! It's a good thing he caught me or I would have flown right into my design wall! And it's a new design wall and I would have uttered more than a few indelicate comments if it cracked.
As it is, I remembered I was being saintly and refrained from telling him he was a first class baboon butthead!
The wretch laughed and upended me and swatted me again and said it was my own fault since I rarely wear undies. Err... when I'm home and working that is.
Tsk.
Fortunately, his hands did other things to distract me from the impromptu spanking and "stuff" ensued and now I have to re-wash the fabric that was still on the floor because... um... because.
~~~
We went to a cocktail party the other night and met the hostess from hell - platinum blonde hair that was lacquered with Elmer's glue I think - a bosom that was desperately trying to leap from her tight bodice, and collagen lips that would frighten a blowfish.
The hors de oeuvres a.k.a. horses ovaries were veggies! There was a platter of crackers and some stinky cheese and very salty nuts. I stuck to the wine and the crackers and His Holiness stuffed himself on veggies. Talk about no couth! Of course, I was saintly and only smiled at the witch when she offered me a veggie ovary from her very own plate. I had an overwhelming urge to stuff it down her throat while simultaneously throttling her. Egads! I hope Santa was watching to see how good I was. The giant squid was watching me, too. He arched a brow in my direction when I politely declined the evil morsel the woman was trying to force on me. Later, I reminded him how saintly I had been.
The wretch snorted! Tsk. Admirals can snort with the best of them.
I would like to add that more than a few of us drank a LOT of wine to get through the evening. I had no intention of inviting these people to our home for any of the holiday festivities we will be hosting but the wretch I live with did the inviting before I could tell him I didn't want them.
Just to be sure I remain "Christmas good," I'll be serving lots of high calorie, high cholesterol, high fat, and high sugar content foods... hope the "vegan" doesn't choke.
Am I saintly or what?
~Sar~
10 days = 240 hours = 14,400 minutes = 864,000 seconds till the jolly ol fat guy burns his butt coming down my chimney.
Tsk.
Bunch of voyeurs.
The other day I was especially saintly. I had a roast in the oven, all the side dishes ready to be warmed up and the table set for the two of us. I even put candles on the table and fresh flowers. Is that saintly? Ubetcha! Of course, I sacrificed my own health to make sure His Holiness had plenty of veggies. I gave him my share along with his. Talk about saintly!
So, I'm in my sewing studio and auditioning fabrics on my design wall for a wonderful new creation that currently resides only in my head. In the course of continuously bending down to select fabric swatches, the drawstring on my sweat pants came loose. Wouldn't you know that the moment my pants fell to my ankles... the giant squid came into the room! I was bent over, my tush - ivory at that particular moment - was obviously a target he couldn't resist!
SWAT!
Jeez! It's a good thing he caught me or I would have flown right into my design wall! And it's a new design wall and I would have uttered more than a few indelicate comments if it cracked.
As it is, I remembered I was being saintly and refrained from telling him he was a first class baboon butthead!
The wretch laughed and upended me and swatted me again and said it was my own fault since I rarely wear undies. Err... when I'm home and working that is.
Tsk.
Fortunately, his hands did other things to distract me from the impromptu spanking and "stuff" ensued and now I have to re-wash the fabric that was still on the floor because... um... because.
We went to a cocktail party the other night and met the hostess from hell - platinum blonde hair that was lacquered with Elmer's glue I think - a bosom that was desperately trying to leap from her tight bodice, and collagen lips that would frighten a blowfish.
The hors de oeuvres a.k.a. horses ovaries were veggies! There was a platter of crackers and some stinky cheese and very salty nuts. I stuck to the wine and the crackers and His Holiness stuffed himself on veggies. Talk about no couth! Of course, I was saintly and only smiled at the witch when she offered me a veggie ovary from her very own plate. I had an overwhelming urge to stuff it down her throat while simultaneously throttling her. Egads! I hope Santa was watching to see how good I was. The giant squid was watching me, too. He arched a brow in my direction when I politely declined the evil morsel the woman was trying to force on me. Later, I reminded him how saintly I had been.
The wretch snorted! Tsk. Admirals can snort with the best of them.
I would like to add that more than a few of us drank a LOT of wine to get through the evening. I had no intention of inviting these people to our home for any of the holiday festivities we will be hosting but the wretch I live with did the inviting before I could tell him I didn't want them.
Just to be sure I remain "Christmas good," I'll be serving lots of high calorie, high cholesterol, high fat, and high sugar content foods... hope the "vegan" doesn't choke.
Am I saintly or what?
~Sar~
10 days = 240 hours = 14,400 minutes = 864,000 seconds till the jolly ol fat guy burns his butt coming down my chimney.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
16 More Days to Suffer
I don't mind telling you this "being good" business is hard work. I'm so good I don't recognize myself in the mirror. Who is that person? I've always prided myself in being good in 15-minute stretches, mostly when I'm asleep. However, I actually outgooded myself the other day. How do I know this? Well...
We were sitting down to dinner when Cowboy stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. "What?" I asked.
"You've got a piece of broccoli on your fork, imp. You feeling okay?"
EGADS! I've gone to hell and didn't even know it!
To make matters worse, I didn't even try to feed the dogs at the table and we were having beef bracciola (Italian beef rolls.) It's one of their favorite things to eat. And I always slip them a bite or two. Cowboy was so alarmed he reached over to feel my forehead to see if I had a fever. Jeez! I checked it myself.
Then I remembered... Christmas Eve is only 16 days away. This being good business in December is pure torture.
His Holiness also told me that the U.S. Navy has Santa's email addy. It's top secret but he said if I send him my email to Santa, he'd make sure it was forwarded to the North Pole. Truly, I suspect the giant squid will doctor the email to include things I don't want like socks and pajamas, but on the other hand, it's hard to resist an opportunity to be one of the few that has a direct link to the jolly old guy. I'm giving this serious thought.
Our friend Alli called to say her cat, Hissy Fit, who spent Thanksgiving with us, remains traumatized from her visit to our house. Hissy is a Maine Coon cat and of course, her ancestors were worshipped as gods by the Egyptians. Hissy continues to be worshipped and honestly, I had no idea so many Egyptians had migrated to our New England states. She (I think Hissy is a "she;" I neglected to look.) demands attention and I gave it to her, swatting her off my clean counters and zapping her with Lysol disinfectant until she got the idea. Both of my cats shunned her, common peasants that they are. The Rott, true to form, tried to drown her in the commode, but BullyBoy treated her to even more hideous torture. He washed her face with his lethal slobber and the poor cat spent hours yelling "Unclean! Unclean! and washing herself. It could have been worse; BullyBoy could have dunked her in his water bowl which someone had filled with cold Budweisers.
We have snow! We rarely get more than a dusting of the white stuff but it came down in buckets and we have about 2-3 inches of it. I rushed out to make snow angels and then I made anatomically correct snow people. It's a wonderful way to use up carrots and Brussels sprouts and prunes. Of course, I built them in the front yard so my neighbors could enjoy looking at them when they drive by. With any luck, my neighbor - Mrs. HairUpHerAss - will waddle over to complain. That woman was toilet trained far too early in life. Tsk.
We had so much snow I built a snow fort and stocked up on snowballs. And when Cowboy came back from his morning jog, I hit him right between the eyes! Boy! Was he surprised at my aim!
I've been practicing.
I bombarded him!
It was wonderful!
He was covered in snow!
Um... did you know that former Seals can still run fast?
And I don't mind telling you they fight dirty.
And they are totally lacking in couth.
He must have played percussion instruments when he was younger because he can spank with *both* hands and still hold me down.
"STOP!" I yelled. "Not my fault you can't throw a snowball to save your life!"
"That was for the snowman with all the dangling bits!" he laughed. "The next spanking is for the snow-woman with the big boobs and Brazilian cut."
Tsk.
"And later tonight, the spanking will be for the snowball fight."
Double tsk.
"And tomorrow, the spanking will be for the snow angels. Didn't I tell you I didn't want you laying in that stuff? You'll catch pneumonia!"
You know, it's a terrible thing when His Holiness automatically assumes I am at fault. I mean, anyone could have made the snow angels. Of course, they were in the backyard... which is fenced and has locked gates.
16 days = 384 hours = 23,040 minutes = 1,382,400 seconds. Santa better not be late; my "goodness" isn't gonna last forever.
~Sar~
We were sitting down to dinner when Cowboy stopped talking in the middle of a sentence. "What?" I asked.
"You've got a piece of broccoli on your fork, imp. You feeling okay?"
EGADS! I've gone to hell and didn't even know it!
To make matters worse, I didn't even try to feed the dogs at the table and we were having beef bracciola (Italian beef rolls.) It's one of their favorite things to eat. And I always slip them a bite or two. Cowboy was so alarmed he reached over to feel my forehead to see if I had a fever. Jeez! I checked it myself.
Then I remembered... Christmas Eve is only 16 days away. This being good business in December is pure torture.
His Holiness also told me that the U.S. Navy has Santa's email addy. It's top secret but he said if I send him my email to Santa, he'd make sure it was forwarded to the North Pole. Truly, I suspect the giant squid will doctor the email to include things I don't want like socks and pajamas, but on the other hand, it's hard to resist an opportunity to be one of the few that has a direct link to the jolly old guy. I'm giving this serious thought.
Our friend Alli called to say her cat, Hissy Fit, who spent Thanksgiving with us, remains traumatized from her visit to our house. Hissy is a Maine Coon cat and of course, her ancestors were worshipped as gods by the Egyptians. Hissy continues to be worshipped and honestly, I had no idea so many Egyptians had migrated to our New England states. She (I think Hissy is a "she;" I neglected to look.) demands attention and I gave it to her, swatting her off my clean counters and zapping her with Lysol disinfectant until she got the idea. Both of my cats shunned her, common peasants that they are. The Rott, true to form, tried to drown her in the commode, but BullyBoy treated her to even more hideous torture. He washed her face with his lethal slobber and the poor cat spent hours yelling "Unclean! Unclean! and washing herself. It could have been worse; BullyBoy could have dunked her in his water bowl which someone had filled with cold Budweisers.
We have snow! We rarely get more than a dusting of the white stuff but it came down in buckets and we have about 2-3 inches of it. I rushed out to make snow angels and then I made anatomically correct snow people. It's a wonderful way to use up carrots and Brussels sprouts and prunes. Of course, I built them in the front yard so my neighbors could enjoy looking at them when they drive by. With any luck, my neighbor - Mrs. HairUpHerAss - will waddle over to complain. That woman was toilet trained far too early in life. Tsk.
We had so much snow I built a snow fort and stocked up on snowballs. And when Cowboy came back from his morning jog, I hit him right between the eyes! Boy! Was he surprised at my aim!
I've been practicing.
I bombarded him!
It was wonderful!
He was covered in snow!
Um... did you know that former Seals can still run fast?
And I don't mind telling you they fight dirty.
And they are totally lacking in couth.
He must have played percussion instruments when he was younger because he can spank with *both* hands and still hold me down.
"STOP!" I yelled. "Not my fault you can't throw a snowball to save your life!"
"That was for the snowman with all the dangling bits!" he laughed. "The next spanking is for the snow-woman with the big boobs and Brazilian cut."
Tsk.
"And later tonight, the spanking will be for the snowball fight."
Double tsk.
"And tomorrow, the spanking will be for the snow angels. Didn't I tell you I didn't want you laying in that stuff? You'll catch pneumonia!"
You know, it's a terrible thing when His Holiness automatically assumes I am at fault. I mean, anyone could have made the snow angels. Of course, they were in the backyard... which is fenced and has locked gates.
16 days = 384 hours = 23,040 minutes = 1,382,400 seconds. Santa better not be late; my "goodness" isn't gonna last forever.
~Sar~
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)