Things we do for love.
I have caught barf in my hands, told a sick snotty nosed kid with a bruised face she was beautiful and sat through tortuous hours of dance recitals all for love. This weekend I spent 3 ½ hours at a reggae concert because love usually requires sacrifice.
Memorial Day Memories
“Feel my head. I usually don’t ask strangers to feel my head but.. well, here.”
“Oooh. It’s got two holes, like a bowling ball.”
“Hey! Over here!
I was in the front seat of the Chrysler 300M when my husband smashed into the back of a slick gold domestic rental car. We weren’t on our way anywhere special and no one was hurt- except the 300M– badly–
My husband has been bugging me for months to go see this traveling exhibit of skinless bodies plasticized and propped up for the general public’s viewing pleasure. The whole idea is intriguing, yes, but also slightly morbid. I sought alternatives,
A quick note on coprophagia –which sounds like a lovely Northern Italian dish to be served piping hot with a cold glass of Pinot Grigio.
Well. It’s not.
It’s what my six month old puppy started doing.