Archive for September, 2007

mythical beast

Today, I was watching the end of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  I decided that if I were going to be a mythical being, it would be a centaur. I used to think I wanted to be a mermaid or a phoenix.  I mean, mermaids are sexy, sort of.  A phoenix can resurrect itself, and it’s tears have healing powers.  However, I really think a centaur is the best. It can kick ass!  I can have four feet and run fast, while I shoot people with my bow and arrow.  All sex would be doggie style.  All the male centaurs I have seen have been pretty hot.  So, it is decided. I will be a centaur in my next mythical life.

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so, i am in love with some stuff right now:

 egg salad sandwiches

geranium candle from aveda


teaching 7th grade

new fall line-up


the ever-diminishing football season

mucinex (but not the extra strength bc it made me LOOOPY. okay, the extra strength, but not on workdays!)

matt dillon

crazy kittens

spinach veggie bites

learning spanish


ginger ale

meerkat manor

stickin’ it to the man

my new clark’s sandals

reduced fat ruffles

packing my lunch

dannon naturals peach yogurt

vitamin water – power c flavor

my new tree earrings

wasabi soy almonds

febreeze plug ins

chicken tacos

bean dip

crab dip

my new teacher roller tote (i am so old)

john stewart

barack obama

collecting boxtops for education

the hawk living in my ‘hood

the thought of a new car

my crazy gramma

the fair is just a  couple of weeks away!

eating lunch with my students

things i am not loving:

the drought that is my love life

THE HOBB being sick(er)

catchig up on bills

my sad, sick subaru



whatever is blooming and making me nuts

summer ending

giving my kitties away

football season

needing a pedicure

all the shit weighing my students down and holding them back

the state of the union

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Rikki Tikki Tumor

(this is probably my most favorite blog ever.  i still laugh when i read it.  originally posted December 11, 2007.)

So, it’s official.  I have a brain tumor.  Okay.  Okay.  Maybe “official” is stretching things as I have yet to get a doctor’s diagnosis, but I know what I know.  I have had this brain tumor for many years.  It is so obvious to me now…

The Tumor has been the cause of numerous migraines.  I am sure it has caused other headaches too, all coming after I have had far too much vodka.  Damned tumor.

Aside from the pain, is the more important side effect of erratic, irrational and foolish behavior.  The Tumor prevents me from keeping my check book properly up to date, resulting in a bounced check or two over the years.

The Tumor has definitely caused me to kiss the wrong boys.   And not kiss the right ones.  Sometimes The Tumor so affects me that I *might* have done some other unsavory acts with some of these wrong boys.  The Tumor also causes me to like kissing these boys.  It’s The Tumor. I’m not to be blamed.

The Tumor has caused me to quit wonderful jobs which I love (teaching) and go back to crappy jobs I never really liked (paralegal).  The Tumor is a treacherous and unpredictable wretch.

Once The Tumor even caused me to fall in love for four years and waste all of my good years on one boy, when I had many other suitors.  The Tumor doesn’t care about heart break and misery. The Tumor lives for it.

The Tumor often causes me to drink too much, stay out too late and dance too long, leaving me exhausted the next day.  I do love the dancing though.

I believe The Tumor is also the cause of numerous inappopriate drunk texts I have sent in my life time.  Many of you reading this have been recipients of these. My pardons.  The  Tumor you see.

The Tumor causes me to say things that often, people don’t really want to hear.   I call it The Truth.  I catch a lot of grief for telling it like it is, but I don’t think The Tumor cares.  The Tumor is a harbinger of true tidings.  He knows no other way.

I am sure The Tumor is to blame for a lot of my personality flaws.  Flaws such as my jealousy, my profanity, my affinity for the naughty.  Hey, The Tumor ain’t all bad.

The Tumor also makes me a picky eater.  I don’t like grits, donuts or ice cream.  I hate sweet tea.  Blame The Tumor.

The Tumor also prevents me from turning pets away.  This is why I have 2 cats and 2 dogs.  Apparently it also prevents me from turning away old ladies, as I have 2 of those also.

Sometimes, The Tumor makes it difficult for me to sympathize with people. The Tumor makes it hard for me to feel sorry for people sometimes who make stupid choices, who can’t accept reality, who are just plain foolish. 

One of the major side effects of The Tumor is that I spend too much money.  I spend it on shoes, books, food, my friends, my family, tee shirts, trail mix, unsweetened iced teas, and a myriad other things.  The Tumor will break me.

There is no end to what The Tumor is responsible for.  I think The Tumor may be behind my television addiction as well.  The Tumor may even feed off of the television. 

Perhaps The Tumor is the cause of my insomnia after all these years.  The Tumor doesn’t need sleep. 

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(originally posted january 17, 2007, but I think it warrants a repost)

The Polygamy of Women.  This is something Jill and I have bandied about repeatedly throughout the years.  Men, although, they may want variety in the number of sexual partners they have, they really can be taken care of by one wife.  Women on the other hand have a much broader need for a variety of men.  Not for sex, well not for sex alone.  Women need many husbands*+ to perform many duties:

The Fixer:  This husband is in charge of fixing the broken stuff around the house.  Loose doorknob?  He’s on it.  Need a light bulb changed?  He’s your man.  The Fixer should not be confused with The Builder (See Below). The Fixer only fixes things made by other people.  He does not create.  (Disclaimer: Often The Fixer and The Builder CAN be found in the same man)

The Builder:  The Builder is the one who makes things for you and the house. He makes the lovely garden bench for the back yard.  He can whip up a set of bookshelves in a heartbeat.  If you want to lay down hardwood floors, he can get the fixer to help him.  He is not just a handy man, like The Fixer; he is a craftsman, an artist of sorts.  Often, he, The Fixer and The Decorator can work together to complete fabulous projects in the home.

The Adventurer:  This husband will go on The Amazing Race with you.  He will tak you S.C.U.B.A. diving in Belize.  You will climb mountains in Germany.    You will take a photo safari to Africa.  He will never grow up, but you will never have a dull moment.

The Chef:  I mean, if you’re going to have a harem, you HAVE to have a chef.  Remember that this husband will be cooking for all of you, so it will be a daunting task, depending upon how many husbands you decide to have.

The Decorator:  Now this husband is certainly a must. He will have your house looking fabulous.  Your furniture will be rich and beautiful, yet useful and family friendly.  Your art will reflect the collective personalities of your family.  You will only sleep on 500 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets.  You will have state of the art appliances for The Obsessive Compulsive Cleaner (a.k.a. Monk) to keep your house in tip top shape.

The Mechanic:  This is a favorite of all the husbands and the wife.  No one likes to pay a freakin’ mechanic!   And this husband is often a car fanatic anyway, so you’re cars will always be washed as well.

The Lover:  This man will do nothing but pleasure you.  Well, he’ll probably have a “real job”, but his main purpose in life is to bring you to the O, repeatedly.  You need to choose this one carefully, the author suggests “scouting” around until you find the one who blows your mind, then nab him if you can. You, will have sex with the other husbands as well, but this will be the one you crave daily.

The Nurturer: This is the husband who will hold your hand while you’re in labor.  He’ll make sure you have all of your favorite bath scents for your long hot soaks in your fabulous tub that The Decorator picked out for you.  On occasion, he might even keep you company while you soak and relax.  This husband will most likely be the most useful in rearing your children.  He will listen to your complaints about the other husbands and keep you confidence.  He will always remember your birthday and anniversary.  Flowers will arrive for no reason, just because.  Little gifts will appear on your pillow.  He’ll remember that you love tulips and hate roses. 

The Gardener: Although I love to plant things and prune and water my pretty flowers, I do NOT like to mow the lawn or rake.  I would actually more readily mow than rake.  Luckily, I have my allergies to blame for not doing these things.   I don’t even care about weeds in the lawn.  But The Gardener? He will be all over this!  His goals will ensure that you have the greenest lawn in the commune.  Greener and nicer than Hank Hill.   He will prune those hydrangeas and keep the red tips from getting the fungus.  He may even be hot enough to work shirtless.

The Techie:  This little techno geek will keep your stereo, computers, television, mp3 players and other gadgetry  so up to date Steve Jobs will be calling you for advice on the newest and coolest.

The Doctor: Who the hell doesn’t want a doctor in the family for free medical advice and drug samples?

The Obsessive Compulsive Cleaner:  He will clean your house all the time until it’s immaculate!  Need I elaborate further??

The Lawyer: Free legal advice.  Duh.

The Pool Boy: This is the one Jill and I have pondered the most about.  We are constantly scouting out the possibilities.  Rhett helps us, too.  And Jim.  And Sally.  This Husband needs to be young and buff.  He will walk around in a cute box cut bathing suit while he serves us fruity, frozen, liquor drinks. He must also keep my pool a sparkling clear oasis for the family, but mainly for me.

The Intellectual:  Sex isn’t everything (don’t laugh! some people really think this!) and you won’t always want to have it (Again, I have heard this is true.)  When you’re not having sex, or basking in the sun, you will need someone with whom to have an intelligent conversation.  You will want a man who can discuss politics, books, current events, and big ideas.  (WARNING: you don’t want a Mr. Know-It-All.)

The Movie Buff: Not everyone will want this husband.  Not everyone likes to go to movies.  This is interchangeable and could really be called The Favorite Past Time Husband as well.  You might like antiquing, or scrap booking.  Maybe you like to go to karaoke.  Fill in the blanks.

The Masseuse:  The Masseuse.  Who the hell wouldn’t want this?  The Masseuse will keep your back in great health.  You will be relaxed and at ease with the Masseuse.  He will always have your favorite scents burning and maybe even give you a happy ending. Or two. Or three. *Please keep in mind that you may not need all these husbands. Some of the husbands might have dual talents and thus eliminate the need for the number of men in the family.  +Feel free to marry gay men and women if that’s your thing.  Sometimes the gay man will be a wonderful husband in some of the less traditional male roles.

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Last weekend, my niece and I met my friend Jill, and her daughter at Panera Bread. I got a sandwich on some fancy bread, like some asiago cheese and herb ciabatta bread or something similar.  The girl at the register asked me what i wanted for my side:

“What are my choices”, I asked.

“An apple, chips, a wheat roll or a white roll”, she replied, chipperly.

I just looked at her.  “Bread is my side for bread?”

She looked a little taken aback, like *I* was the crazy one.  “Well, yes ma’am.”

I said, “I can understand a roll with my salad or my soup, but with a SANDWICH?  Those are my only choices?”

I was floored. Who in the hell wants more bread with a very bready sandwich? “I don’t want anything. I don’t really want bread with my bread.”

I mean, I could have gotten apple or chips, but I have braces, so an apple is really out of the question.  Chips aren’t really the healthy choice right?

I think she was a little ticked off at me because I found bread as my side to be a little insane. NOTE TO SELF: get soup and a salad next time.

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I did it all for the Nookie

(Originally posted April 23, 2006 on MySpace) 

(I was reading over some of my old blogs, deciding which ones to repost here from Myspace. This one made me laugh. )


So, Sally and I were talking tonight.  Okay, not real talking, IMing.  (Is that a verb?)  We were discussing how men bitch and moan about never getting laid enough, how THEY always want sex but their WOMAN nevvvver wants sex.  Well, all I can say is these men must be sexin’ up the wrong girls.  Every one of my female friends likes sex- and lots of it.  We like sex in the morning, sex at night, lunch-time quickies, sex on Tuesday, really any day ending in Y.  So, the big question really is who are these non-sex liking girls?  I mean, really.  What’s NOT to like?  I don’t know.  Unless you’re doing it with some moron who doesn’t know what to do, sex should be great.  Even IF you’re having sex with someone who seems clueless, sex can be good.  Clue them in!  There really are very few psychics in this world.  We were all virgins at one time. 


So, ladies, if your man is poking you the wrong way, twisting your nipple too hard, or not hard enough, not givin’ up some foreplay, eating at the Y for waaaaay too long (why do you guys do that? Duration does not equal quality.  FYI.), not smackin’ that ass while you’re doin’ it doggie style, then tell them what you want!  Fellas, if you’re sleeping with some dead mackerel of a girlfriend, fuck buddy, lover,  if she won’t squeeze the boys while she’s slobbin’ the knob,   if she won’t let you watch,  if missionary is the only position she’s heard of, if she has to have sex with the lights out,  then let her know what you want. If she’s not up for it, I am sure that you know some girls who are more than willing to get freaky.  And really, its not freaky until you bring in the midgets and Jell-O. 


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The Chicken and The Crow

My oldest, closest friend is Amy Jo. Well she is one of them.  I have known Debbie and Amy Jo since we were in 7th grade.  At this point, they are family, not friends. 

  In middle school, Debbie and I were inseparable.  In high school, college and after, it was Amy Jo and Kim, The Chicken and The Crow.  Those were our nicknames.    She used to do animal impressions; The Chicken was one of them.  I was The Crow because I was always bitching at her.  CAW CAW!

Amy Jo and I rode to school every day. We ate lunch together. We hung out together at night and on weekends.  We all hung out on weekends and went to the beach and stuff together. Amy and I went to the Bahamas together.  I’d sleep at her house, she’d sleep at mine.  More often she was at mine because her mom was always at the lake.  No one knows me as well as these two crazy girls!

Amy Jo and I were college roommates.  We had so much fun.  (those are stories for later blogs!)  When we graduated, she lived with me and THE HOBB for awhile. (THE HOBB is my gramma for new readers. )

As grown ups, we rarely see each other as much as we’d like, considering the constant hours we spent as girls and young adults. Tonight, I got to hang with AJ, uninterrupted!  We had a blast.  It was old lady fun I guess. Haha!  We just went to go eat, but it is so much fun to be around her because we always make each other laugh.  In college, we always went to California Dreaming ( we were at College of Charleston), so tonight we went to “our place”.   We got caught up on each other’s lives first.  We both have tons going on.  She has two precious boys.  I have one crabby gramma. I think I have it worse! Haha!  We both have our fair share of lunatic relatives, so we got caught up on them.  Then we gossipped about all the folks we know. 

We had a good meal, and good friendship.  I realized how much I miss getting to see her all the time.  We have vowed to try to get together at least every couple of months. E-mail and phone calls isn’t as good! 

Amy is so caring and bubbly. She always has nice things to say.  She can take a joke, and she can joke about herself.   That is a great trait to have in a best friend.  I couldn’t ask for a better partner in crime!

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(Oringially posted November, 2006.  I am reposting it because of a journal question I had for my students today about girls asking guys out. I was remined of this blog.)


 This is something I have had several conversations with different people of both genders over the past few weeks.  Dating is dead.  People just don’t seem to date anymore. 


The act of courtship and wooing has disappeared.  A lot of my friends, married and dating, are together only after having “hooked up” or slept together several times, and therefore become a couple by default. 


Dating is a lost art.  Picnics in the park.  Drive in movies.  The theater.  Basketball games.  Hockey games.  Walking in the park.  Coffee.  Drinks (no, not getting drunk in a bar). Dessert.  Cooking dinner for each other.  It seems now that dating comes AFTER sex and the hook up.  We do these things once we are already intimately involved with someone.  We aren’t dating in the same way I guess.  We are still dating, just in a backwards manner.


I have several theories on why dating is dead.  One is that the sexual freedom experienced by both sexes has altered our methods of courtship.  No longer does the man feel it is necessary to take a woman to dinner, or the movies.  Heaven forbid he come up with something more creative.  I am sure florists and jewelers have taken a hit, except for the guilt flowers and jewelry.  I can’t tell you the last time I went on a genuine date.  I think it was with The Canadian.  We went for ice cream.  I hate ice cream, but I got a smoothie.  That was about two years ago. 


Theory Two.  Women are financially and socially independent these days.  It’s not like it was in the 50s when we HAD to rely on men for dates because we didn’t have our own money, or it was improper for us to go into bars and clubs unaccompanied.  We have our own independence and money so we can go where we please and buy what we please, including flowers and jewelry.  Dinner and movies. 


Theory Three.  This is a theory I did not come up with on my own.  Men have become emasculated by women.  You read about this in the media all the time. Why should they become emasculated?  Because we have OPINIONS??  Because we have JOBS??  Malarkey.  This is just a cop out to get out of footing the bill for dinner. 


Men and women have found it too easy to go out, get drunk and go home with each other.  It is much easier than dating.  Dating is HARD.  hell relationships are hard, so you know getting to one is! Keeping up your end of the conversation.  What?  HARD!  Not spilling spaghetti sauce on your white blouse.  For me, that’s REALLY hard.  Worrying about who is going to pay.  Another dilemma that has been the topic of many conversations over my lifetime.  It is much easier to get drunk, go home with someone you would actually LIKE to date and get to know better, and then you can blame your behavior on the bottle.  Or the beer goggles.


I think it’s sad that dating has fallen by the wayside, except for high school kids.  Hell, even they use the hook up method of courtship.  I would love to be wooed and courted.  Have love letters written to me.  Now all we have is drunken texting, dialing and emailing.  Not much of a trade. 


Have women made it to easy for the men because of our own physical desires?  We like sex, too.  We also like having dinner bought for us, flowers sent to us, little notes to let us know you’re thinking about us.  We can’t help it.  Even the most feminist of us still are women and more sentimental and emotional by nature.  Would it really kill you to treat us to a meal once in a while?  I mean we read magazines to learn better techniques in oral sex, bedroom maneuvers; we spend oodles of money on cute panties and sexy bras.  Does our effort not warrant some sort of reward other than a couple of quick drunken thrusts and then the inevitable pass out and snoring?  I know we women aren’t perfect.  I love to buy my man gifts.  I have spent more money on boyfriends than I care to think about.  I do it because I want to though. I want them to feel special and loved.  Is it wrong that I want that, too? I think not! 


I would put a ban on myself against drunken hook ups, but it would fruitless.  As many of us already know, dating in Columbia is dead.  I might as well get some good kissing out of it.


I guess it all goes back to my desire to meet a man like George Bailey.  I fear I will die waiting.

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Kids in America

(originally published on Myspace April, 2006)


I have taught the 8th grade for six years now. I have taught in the same school for all six years. The school I teach in is in an urban area.  95% of my students are African-American, from low socio-economic homes.  They are so smart and funny, but they are unmotivated and lazy.  They are pressured to sell drugs, be in gangs, have sex at an early age and not take school seriously.  It is not “cool” to be smart and make good grades.  Granted, in the 8th grade, not many kids are thinking that college is just four years away.   These students come from some homes that have serious problems.  My students are in gangs, getting pregnant, lying, stealing and cheating. 


They epitomize every horrible thing you see and hear in the news and media about urban black teens. 


Unfortunately, that is only about 20% of my kids.  Granted, most of my kids will NOT go to college, but many will.  Only 50% of the students at Columbia High (which receives my rising 9th graders) graduate from high school.  But, not all of them will end up in jail.  Those that do, give the rest of them a bad rap.  Most of them WILL end up working hard in crappy jobs, living on government assistance and sending THEIR kids to the same schools they attended.


Over the past few years, many of my students have come back to St. Andrews to visit me.  One, Larry, is in the Navy, serving in Bahrain.  He is tall and handsome.  His manners are impeccable.  He has really grown into a great man. 


Another young man came to visit me while he was at the school getting a reference from the social studies teacher he had in 8th grade.  I had to stand on my tip-toes to hug him (which really isn’t all that unusual for me).


I said, “Patrick, what are you up to?”


“I came to get a reference from Mr. Waites.  I am going to USC”, Patrick replied.


“GREAT!  What are you getting a reference for?” I asked.


“Miss Finney.  I am going to be a teacher, because of you. 

Don’t you know?” he said.


That was so sweet!  I had actually influenced him to do something with his whole LIFE.  What an amazing compliment from him.


Another student, Mike Davis, was a star football player in high school.  Now he is playing college ball for USC. 


Shanna and Terrell have been in the newspaper a bunch of times for academics and sports.  They are both going on to college. 


Another student moved to Orangeburg. She is a sophomore taking several senior level classes. 


Two of my former girls just won Miss Congeniality and Miss Junior in the Columbia High Pageant.


Many of my students have entered the military.  This makes me both sad and proud.  They are protecting our country, but they are living in dangerous places and may not come home. 


I am tired of all of the negative press kids get.  Quit giving them so much attention!  Put them on TV when they do great things.  Go find the good stories.  There are just as many as those out there.  My student go to church.  They go to nursing homes and sing.  They work and go to school. They do volunteer work, and not as a condition of parole.  They help their parents with the bills and the younger kids.  They are on the honor roll. They have goals.  They have dreams.  Maybe if we focused on all the great things kids do, more kids would want to do the great things.


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Goin’ To the Chapel


This is one of my favorite stories.


When we were all 23, my childhood friend Debbie got married rather quickly.  No she wasn’t knocked up.  She was marrying a Navy man.  He was being shipped to Hawaii, and they just couldn’t be apart!  They were in love, proposals ensued, and a spur of the moment wedding was underway.


The chapel at Pawley’s Island on the waterway was reserved.  A nice sit down rehearsal dinner and reception was organized.  Another childhood friend, Amy Jo, and I were requested to be bridesmaids. 


The day of the rehearsal we go to Myrtle Beach.  After the rehearsal and much drinking, we go buy our brides’ maid’s dresses.  This is truly one of few brides’ maid’s dresses I have been able to wear repeatedly afterwards.  We got them at J. Crew, I think.  With that out of the way, we got on to the BACHELORETTE party!!  We went back to Deb’s apartment and starting getting ready to go out, doing tequila shots and drinking liquor drinks.  Needless to say, we were getting drunnnk.    We went to some cheesy dance club.  One of our girls passed out in the bathroom as soon as we got there.  We worked to get her awake and out in the car to sleep it off.  Not an easy task for five drunken college girls. 


The wedding was at noon the next day in August in a chapel with no air conditioning.  We stayed out until about 5, and then stayed awake drinking at the apartment until 7 a.m.  (Oh, don’t you judge us!  You know you did that in college! Some of you still do!!) .  We slept until about 9:30.  We begrudgingly got up and started to slowly get ready, showering etc.  Debbie, Amy and I went to another friend’s house to get ready. When we got here, still drunk really, we laid around the house for a while. 


We finally got our acts together and arrived at the chapel about thirty minutes late.  This was before we all had cell phones, so no one knew where we were or if we were even coming.  Debbie’s dad was really pissed off.  We were still tipsy, so we didn’t care.  Debbie, being her usual belligerent self said, “Fuck y’all!  It’s my wedding; I can be late if I want to!”


The wedding started.  There was a cheesy CD player playing the music for the wedding (someone else’s idea, not Debbie’s).  It was unbearably hot! August in South Carolina, at the beach no less, is not a cool, comfortable place to be.  Did I mention that I was wearing high heels, panty hose and a long sleeve dress?  Did I also mention that my hair, at this point was waste length.  If you know me, I have think, curly hair.  Long, thick, curly hair in conjunction with that clothing ensemble results in sweat rivulets down various parts of my body, such as my back, the backs of my legs, my cleavage, my face, my arms pits…


So, the wedding is progressing.  We are all getting a little emotional because Debbie is the first one of our trio to get married.  We’re sad and happy at the same time because she is moving away too.  To help us get a little relief from the heat, we had the sliding glass doors of the chapel open. As I was walking down the aisle, I had dropped my tissue.  I was also at one point given Debbie’s bouquet, so my hands are full.


I got more and more emotional and got a little sniffly.  It didn’t help that we were all a little buzzy still. At one point, while I was sorta crying, a crane flew out of the marsh with a very, very loud RAHWWH  RWAHHW. 


THAT WAS THE LAST STRAW.  That struck my funny bone.  I let out a snort because it tickled me that as Debbie was saying her “I do’s”, this large bird was flying and making  a huge ruckus.  Unfortunately, as I let out this snort my nose was full of snot.  I blew and enormous snot bubble!  The only people to see this bubble were Debbie, Amy and me.  We all got struck so funny, we couldn’t really pay any more attention to the actual vows and ceremony going on around us.  We were all shaking violently.  I am now trying to sniff the snot back up my nose as it is making a slow descent to my lips.  (Keep in mind that my tissues are gone and my hands are full of flowers, so I can’t even do a quick nose rub)  SNIIFFFF. GIGGLE! GIGGLE! SNIFF! SNIFFF! I started tilting my head back hoping that would slow things down.   No luck. Finally, the wedding was over.  I am a sweating, snotty face, sniffling mess who is trying NOT to completely roll on the floor with laughter at the complete absurdity of how all this had turned out. 


To add insult to injury, at the reception, one of the other girl’s in the wedding party pulled my ribbon on the bride’s maid’s cake. The ribbon was attached to a lovely silver charm, each with a special meaning.  I got stuck with the last charm.  A thimble.  The thimblesspecial represention: OLD MAID. 

 To this day Debbie blames me for her divorce, and I blame her for my spinsterhood.

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