Tonight my friends Chris and Lilly came to visit, and do not be confused, please. I am writing this on Saturday night because I am all hepped up on the decaf and am not tired yet. Anyway, when they came to the door, Tallulah ran over, because as aloof of a dog as she is, for some reason she takes a big shine to Chris.
"Are Aunt Chris and Uncle Lilly here?" I asked her. Aunt Chris and Uncle Lilly. What in the Sam Holy Hill has happened to my brain parts?
Anyway, yes. They were here. And they brought me hydrangeas!
How pretty! They also brought the meat, cheese, an onion, cooking implements and anything else they could think of because they assumed I would have nothing. Which, you know, I didn't for the most part.
Aunt Chris and Uncle Lilly are 17 years younger than I am. Are they incredibly mature or am I a dolt?
Don't answer, please.
The dogs were delighted to have people over, as they are a sociable group. Winston and Henry sat in the lawn outside and glared at us, and the kittens were hither and yon, mostly getting their necks chewed by the dogs. My dogs have this awful habit of being nice to cats unless the cats are in the back yard, then suddenly they are prey and must be chawed.
Basically dogs are idiots. Chawing idiots.
Lilly and I sat and enjoyed our own selves while Chris got out the charcoal, lit it on fire, scrubbed my dusty sitting-in-the-shed-all-winter grill, then made the hangabers. My friend Renee's kid said hangabers but she is now, like, six and probably does not say that anymore. Nevertheless the three of us said "hangabers" all night even though Chris and Lilly would not know Renee if they peed on her. Why they would pee on Renee is beyond me.
Coincidentally, whenever I had parties in LA, Renee would come over with all her cooking implements and end up making all the food. You see. People enable me.
Anyway, we had fun and ended up talking about times we've pooped ourselves, which for the record only happened to me when I was, like, four. So thank you. Of course now I've cursed myself and will probably bring the poop fest as I type.
When Marvin met my family for the first time, not one but TWO family members told him about times they pooped themselves as adults. I have no idea why this marriage did not work out.
Okay, now I am tired. I am pooped. BAH! I wanted to tell you why I like Daniel Boone but that will have to wait for another day. I have come up with a profound idea about how men and women differ, and what men need to figure out about us and what Daniel Boone seems to either already know or is just intrinsically good at. About two straight single men read this blog, so I don't know why I'm trotting out this info. Maybe one day a straight boy will find this blog and my theory will help him. Because I am the Ann Landers of my time.
Oh, I almost forgot. I served coffee tonight and my milk expired May 13. Why did Chris and Lilly think they had to bring all the groceries, again? And why the hell didn't they bring milk? GOD. Rude.
Okay goodnight. Try not to poop yourself.