Thursday, June 22, 2006

Does that make me crazy?

As I write this, we're counting hours now. It's less than 24 of them before I nap the evil red-headed Berta Lou and whisk her away to a chick night like no other. At precisely 4:03 PM, OCD Chick time, we're heading out of town at speeds that will not exceed the legal matter how ready I am to get the heck out of the land of RV's & Milo.

And boy am I ready.

I have plucked, dyed, teased, shaved, glossed and whitened many things. I have shopped for, tried on, purchased and returned many things. But most importantly, I have had Mr. Man sign many things.

Legal and binding things.

Legal and binding things that grant me amnesty should anything completely unplanned and absolutely Berta's fault take place.

Was he slightly unconscious when he "signed" them? Yes, he was. Does that make it any less legal and binding? Let's go ahead and say no so that I can enjoy the weekend without an ulcer.

Because the evil red-headed Berta Lou has been such a fun victim during this whole thing, I sent her a clue this evening that finally let her in on one of the places we are going. As some of you have been so much fun as well, I'm gonna tell you.

Among other things, we're going GAMBLING! Not normal lower-case gambling, kids. Upper case, screaming loud GAMBLING! We're gonna win big and come home with buckets full of money... if we don't throw it all away on Necco wafers and Elvis impersonators first.

Where else are we going?

Hmmm. Should I tell you now that we're down to the wire? Should I go ahead and spill my guts and then wait to find out whether Berta reads it here first or one of her uniform-wearing co-workers reads it and blabs within minutes of my post?

What the heck.



There will be plate breaking and belly dancing and how low can you go and gyros and baklava and this Southern person trying to say Greek words that I have no business trying to say.

Of course, there will probably be a Wendy's hamburger at some point in our evening as well, but that's OK. We'll order our burgers with a Greek accent.

It's gonna be a good old-fashioned hoot, but the most important thing of all is this:

I have cute new shoes with heels so high I will very likely fall and injure myself and anyone in the immediate area ....and after all, isn't that what really matters? (Not the injuring part. The cute new shoes part.)

Does that make me crazy?

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