Once upon a too late evening following a too early morning sandwiching a too long day, I trudged on the verge of dropping dead next to Hunneypunkin while he steered an overloaded grocery cart through a noisy jumbo store, and I said, "This checkout lane is the shortest," and because Hunneypunkin always only takes my advice without question when I choose poorly, we promptly turned in there.
I discovered too late that perhaps the reason there were so few customers in that lane, was because the very nice elder gent working at the register had a horrifying habit of licking his fingers and thumbs to open the plastic bags into which our groceries would go. Wait, did I just see that? Oh, no way, he did it again. And again. Over and over. I was so. Grossed. Out. Did he not understand he was getting his spit all over the food I was buying and the bags in which I would carry it home, when he was licking his mitts and then grabbing the goods? I was too shocked and exhausted to suggest that he stop slobbering on my stuff, but all the way home I could absolutely feel the germs climbing off the shopping bags and up my arm hairs. The second I got into my house, I just crawled into the washing machine with my groceries and some bleach and gave us all a good spin.
So one fine day when an opportunity arose to visit a cornfield where pickers were welcome, I jumped at the chance to bring my family home some healthy, saliva-free sustenance. I found myself a lovely row of stalks far from where other harvesters were picking and began to pull the ears off the stalks and then knock the empty stalks to the ground as was customary in this field. From out of nowhere a random dude appeared to pick immediately beside me. He was yammering quite happily as he harvested his corn, which was lovely except for the fact that he was all alone. He wasn't talking to me, and he wasn't sporting a Bluetooth, he was just...talking. Perhaps he was speaking to the ears of corn? I found a new row in which to pick where I would be out of his way, but he reappeared to continue his harvest immediately beside me. When he knocked me in the head with a cornstalk, I again relocated to an unoccupied row. And he again materialized beside me. At that point I stalked out of the corn before the corn-stalker could bean me with another stalk of corn. Now I know how Jeremy Renner feels. http://www.belfasttelegraph.co.uk/entertainment/news/jeremy-renner-stalker-stole-cat-28767511.html
I don't know what's more horrifying, slaver on my comestibles or a stalker in the corn. My Treasure suggested a poll, so cast your vote in the comments. Which is worse: a bag licker, or a corn stalker?
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Not a Real Thing
You wanna know what bugs me? Why, thank you for asking. You KNOW I hate artificialness. http://chevroletmama.blogspot.com/2012/10/real-thing.html So you'll understand how phrases such as "too much cheese" send me into a paroxysm.
Too much cheese is not a real thing. There's never enough cheese. Cheese cures what ails ya. The king of all foods is cheese. If you can't eat all your cheese, gimme. I'll do it.
Guy and girl best friends is not a real thing. No matter what either of you say, if you're over age twelve and your best friend is an opposite, we all know where your heart went whether your mind meant to or not.
Sharing-size candy packages are not a real thing. I'm going to eat it all. You can't have any. There will be no sharing. Pixie will back me up on this; she knows. Buy your own.
Giving a hundred and ten percent is not a real thing. I'm going to puke on the next person I hear say that. Mathematics, people. You only have one hundred percent. If you're giving one hundred and ten, you just stole from somebody else and now they only have ninety. (Remember that I said this, so that next time I tell you I gave a hundred and ten percent, you can call me out, because I say it all the time.)
The Precious recently coerced me into watching the movie Divergent. I'm looking forward to seeing the sequel, Insurgent. The Precious says they're making a third show, which I'm convinced will be titled "Detergent". But The Precious tells me that's not a real thing. Lefty, however, says if it were, he wouldn't mind having his pants washed in that film.
No, Jeremy Renner was not in Divergent.
Too much cheese is not a real thing. There's never enough cheese. Cheese cures what ails ya. The king of all foods is cheese. If you can't eat all your cheese, gimme. I'll do it.
Guy and girl best friends is not a real thing. No matter what either of you say, if you're over age twelve and your best friend is an opposite, we all know where your heart went whether your mind meant to or not.
Sharing-size candy packages are not a real thing. I'm going to eat it all. You can't have any. There will be no sharing. Pixie will back me up on this; she knows. Buy your own.
Giving a hundred and ten percent is not a real thing. I'm going to puke on the next person I hear say that. Mathematics, people. You only have one hundred percent. If you're giving one hundred and ten, you just stole from somebody else and now they only have ninety. (Remember that I said this, so that next time I tell you I gave a hundred and ten percent, you can call me out, because I say it all the time.)
The Precious recently coerced me into watching the movie Divergent. I'm looking forward to seeing the sequel, Insurgent. The Precious says they're making a third show, which I'm convinced will be titled "Detergent". But The Precious tells me that's not a real thing. Lefty, however, says if it were, he wouldn't mind having his pants washed in that film.
No, Jeremy Renner was not in Divergent.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)