|Am I actually on this bus?|
Okay, so I didn't really get on a bus yesterday.
I did in my mind, though. And I went all the way down to Disney World to see Mickey and we stopped at every IHOP on the way no matter how far off the highway it took us.
But I really should have left because Seth was pretty mad when, after he double-sprayed himself with his ancient bottle of Brut cologne, there were no beautiful, shining women wearing wings and underwear on the TV screen.
I showed him yesterday's blog and he was somewhat placated because he loves seeing his name in Times New Roman* plus one of the helpful comments reminded him that he can easily find plenty of porn on the internet.
This pleased him only in theory. He will not be seeking porn on the internet, Tom and Charlie.
Your dad is into trains, ships, engines, machinery, world history and politics and that's all--leaving little to no time for porn. All the man wanted was an hour of gorgeousness wearing feathers and pearls, smiling at him and him alone from the runway of the damn Victoria's Secret Fashion Show.
To make matters worse, I asked him to scratch my back last night which I knew was a mistake but I was desperate.
He's a brilliant guy...he can fix stuff and understands the financial crisis, fluctuating mortgage rates, why the airlines are filing for bankruptcy and can always find the clicker when it goes missing but he simply cannot (or, will not...?????) follow directions when scratching my back.
He interprets left as right, up as down and here as there and I, inevitably, begin to scream and then he screams back and before you know it, the cats are trying to distract us by coughing up hairballs on the bathmat.
Seth is here today, working from home. Walking back and forth and shouting into his phone, he is the picture of crankiness so I am going to make myself scarce.
I wish you all a fantastic weekend and thank you all for your comments and readership this week. See you on Monday!
* This blog's font is really Arial but Times New Roman sounds so much better.
|My wife forget to record the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show, too.|
Wah, wah, wah.