So Wednesday as always was Cocktails dinner and the bitches. Auntie S, from here forth known as Auntie Chihuahua, came over and we vegged out with the boob tube (that becomes even more appropriate if you watch American's Next Top Model).
In one scene, one of the air-headed bimbos, um I mean, models chopped a hunk out of her thumb while trying to cook. Earlier this week I suffered a similar, if less dramatic and less televised kitchen incident when I tried to shorten the middle finger on my left hand by about half an inch. It hurt, I yelled, I cleaned the wound and wrapped it in a Backyardigans bandage and went on about my business. (This really is relevant to my story, believe me.)
So, when the lovely but Frankenstein-walking Lauren, chopped a chunk out of her finger, Big Dog turns to me and says, "Is that you mommy?"
"What? Is what me?" I asked momentarily confused.
"On TV, did you just cut your finger?" he asks, deeply concerned.
"Oh now sweetie, I did cut my finger, but that is not me." I say, internally grinning at my 4 year old mistaking a near anorexic model wannabe for his, well, not near anorexic mama. Aw, such sweet mama-goggles that kid has. Or maybe, probably more realistically he is trying to figure out why I watch this dreck if I am not personally involved on some level, which is kind of a valid question.
In ANTM news, the near brain dead wanna be erotic dancer was eliminated. I nearly jumped up and screamed my delight! Up until that moment I didn't realize I even cared that much.
Pasta ala Fridge
12 years ago
1 comment:
safe travels and gonna miss you this week.
Post a Comment