I can’t help it.
It’s just the family I’m blessed with.
Not everyone can be so lucky.
My Cowboy owns a compass. The kind you tell direction with, not the kind you draw circles with.
I walked into the living room yesterday, and he was standing by the window peering down into it.
Me: “Whatcha doin’?”
Him: “I’m readin’ my kaleidoscope.”
Me: “Well, are you facing north?”
Him: “I can’t really tell . . .”
My sister and I were out galavanting, when our brother calls. First, he calls her. She didn’t have her phone with her. So then he calls me. I didn’t hear my phone ring. So he calls her again. Says: “I’m out drivin’ around on the 4-wheeler tryin’ to find out what the dogs have been eatin’. It sure ain’t dog food. They ain’t touched that for two days.”
My sister: “Think it could be a deer carcass?”
Him: “I don’t know.”
Katy: “You know, after a certain number of days, deer carcasses become toxic, and can kill whatever eats on ’em.”
Him: “You don’t say? Hmm, think I’ll try to find a couple more to drag up to the house.”
Tonight, as we’re leaving my sister’s to come home after Sunday dinner (and Hee-Haw), I’m rummaging through the console in the truck. My Cowboy: “What on earth are you doing?”
Me: “I’m looking for chapstick.”
Him: “We’re not in the desert.”
Me: “When my lips are chapped, they’re chapped, no matter where we are.”
Him: “Pfft! You haven’t kissed my ass enough to have chapped lips.”
I’m just certain that one of us will come up with the solution to a major world problem in our sleep some night . . . be sure to check back . . .