It’s NOT genius I’m surrounded by . . .
And I’m dealing with it daily.
From all sides . . .
My Cowboy is horrifically offended that in my last post about him, I made it sound like he’s just a “plain ol’ farmer.” And that I never mentioned Chip, the Wonder Horse, and Blueberry, the SuperDog.
“They’re gonna think I was just out plowin’ a field when I found that fire! You didn’t tell ’em what I was really doin’.” And then he reminded me of one of his favorite movie quotes: “I ain’t doin’ nothin’ I cain’t do from the back of a horse.”
So ever since, he’s been feigning indignance whenever he gets the chance. I’m sure Chip and Blueberry would also have hurt feelings if they could read the blog. They’d be harping, too, that I never mentioned that they had just finished rounding up and loading an injured cow onto the trailer, and that they weren’t even scared one little bit of the fire at all. They all want full credit!
See what I have to deal with?
Denny’s since moved on past the whole fire incident, and has been complaining that he’s putting on too much weight lately. So in response, my sister is putting him on a diet beginning tomorrow. He requested fried chicken for Sunday dinner tonight. One last hoo-rah.
I’m supposed to make him a chocolate cake.
Then he adds: “If I don’t like it, I ain’t a doin’ it.”
My sister says: “Well, I got news for ya. You ain’t gonna like it, but I’m the cook around here.”
He looks at My Cowboy and whispers: “The last time she put me on a diet, I’d sneak off down to Orville’s and have some o’ whatever Diane was fixin’ him.”
See what my sister has to deal with?
From our brother asking her if there’s any special seasoning he needs for those deer carcasses, to the neighbor standing in the gate and saying to me: “You bin waitin’ fer me yer whole life, aintcha?”, and me biting back a reply of “Why, yes — yes, I have — NOT,” it’s just one thing after another.
I had lunch with my cousin the other day, and he knew I had recently been on a quilting retreat. He inquired: “How does somethin’ like that work?”
So I explained to him how it went.
“Was there any drinkin’ goin’ on?”
I said, “Yeh, they broke out the wine on the second night.”
“The second night?! Why’d they wait so long?”
Then the trick question: “Did you have some?” (He knows I only drink very occasionally — does that make me an “anti-social drinker”?)
I said: “I really needed to get sewing done and didn’t want to be drunken sewing.”
He said: “Well, I like to sew when I been drinkin’. I do like to tie one on and get out my thread and needle and go to town.”
I had no good response to that one . . .
Last weekend, my niece found a babysitter, made plans for a date night with her hubby, and halfway through the date, he decided he was tired, and they just had to go home right then. (Some guys just can’t handle Dinner Theater.)
See what my niece has to deal with?
So she took him home, bought more tickets, and invited her mother and me this time. We had fun, and I’ll tell you more about that later.
And I wake up this morning, get chores over with, and ask My Cowboy what he wants for breakfast.
“I want an egg, but can you make it sorta scrambled and sorta fried and square? And can you make my sausage patty square, too? I want it all to fit on my toast just right.”
I was dying to know: “Did your mother have to trim the crusts off your PBJ and cut your sandwiches into special shapes when you were little?”
“I’ve never eaten jelly in my life. Yuck!”
I’ve inherited the world’s pickiest eater . . .
The insanity continues . . .
It should be obvious by now that all us girls needed a girl’s night out, huh? I think we’re gonna have to have them more often . . .