Wednesday, May 30, 2007

England Salarva Trash Laser

Our vacation was in jeopardy for 24 hours. Seems that right after I made reservations yesterday, HH was called into the boss's office and told that he needed to be on a plane to England Sunday morning. Maybe that's just a euphemism for something else. Maybe he's fired. Maybe he's gonna be sleepin' with the fishes. Naww...there was some $100,000 machine he was supposed to look at and bid on. But this morning, he said he thinks he won't have to go. It's an online auction, anyway. Business, schmizness. I don't know how people operate those things.

I have a sore throat. Only one side of it. #1 son is the carrier. He complained about it over the weekend. Then #2 got it. I knew I shouldn't have finished off his sausage biscuit yesterday. I really knew when I bit into it and it was wet. Eewww! He tried to tell me it was soda. Maybe...if by 'soda', he means 'saliva'. Or 'salarva'.

The school called today. It wants its #1 son back. Really. Two of the summer school teachers called to ask him to come to school for the next two weeks. First thing I asked was: "How did you get my private number?" Just joking. They said they have ways of tracking me down. I told them he couldn't attend next week, because we're going on vacation. "And don't rob me, either, because I'm pretty sure you can find my address where you got that phone number!" They agreed not to rob me if #1 brings a sack lunch tomorrow and clean trash on Friday. See? That's why I haven't been letting him go. Those people are wacky. I think they are going to build some sculpture out of clean trash. But if it's clean, it's not trash. It's a collectible. Just ask HH.

Oh, you can't. HH is off to build my grandma's fence again. A jaunt which he did not inform me of. But it gave me a preposition to end my sentence with. HH says he told me last night. Duh! He was at Grandma's last night, and then down in the woods when he got back. I even called him this morning, and he didn't tell me. And neither did #1 son, who was supposed to help him both nights, but refused. Yet had the nerve to ask for a playmate to come up and play laser tag this afternoon. Nope. Isn't it enough that I gave birth to a built-in playmate for him nine years ago? And I didn't even have to go to Viet Nam to get one. How can it be more fun to laser-kill a kid who is not even related than it is to laser-kill your own brother? Anyway, the playmate is not even out of school yet. Heh, heh. Remember that next August, buddy, when you ask why we have to go back so soon.

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at writeinthethickofit.blogspot.com.
It is open until Saturday night at 10:00.

5 comments:

Cazzie!!! said...

I got a sore throat too, something happening out there we dunno about? Apart from our full moon ..well, I am off to hol at it okay, LOL.

Redneck. Diva. said...

Even though I love my kids dearly and am probably in direct violation of some unwritten Mother Code, I refuse to eat after my children. I am not a good share-er. Because they are. Share-ers of germs, anyway.

Bleh.

I wish the school wanted my kids back....if I offer them trash do you think they'll take me up? Nah, they probably don't want the kids OR my trash. They're kind of closed-minded like that sometimes.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Cazzie,
Howl at it for me, too. My head is splitting.

Diva,
Well, there's the difference in us. I only refuse to eat my children. They are too bland, methinks.

Heh, heh. Trash for kids. You can start a new charity. Fie on those close-minded Okie administrators! Don't they know they're getting kids AND perfectly good trash? Doggone!

Stewed Hamm said...

Children taste much better if you sprinkle a little lemon pepper on them... assuming of course that you don't have time to wash them before you eat them.
However, if you're able to eat leisurely, I highly recommend a vigorous scrubbing before consuming them. It's an entirely different flavor sensation.

What? No, I wouldn't eat my own children, I'm not some kind of bloody savage!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Steweatingafriedchildsandwich,
Mmm...I think I prefer the children roasted, not stewed.