Monthly Archives: December 2014

Inner Thoughts of a Gassy Woman

The below post is based on a story I heard during Christmas break. The words may not be verbatim, but the facts are true. This is not me — even though I am telling the story as if it is — but rather it is another very funny person in my life who does not realize how funny she is. She shall remain anonymous as per her request.

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One day, a few years ago (I cannot pinpoint the exact year because I would much rather just put the entire incident somewhere where I cannot reach it. You know, like in a titanium vault that not even the nuclear bomb could open), I had a serious problem that was emitting from the bottom half of my body. Particularly, my ass.

I felt it coming and I knew it wasn’t going to be good. You know that feeling? That almost runny, burning feeling when you eat too much spicy food and fiber? You can feel it collect right at the door. It wasn’t good.

My boss asked me to run to the bank to make a deposit. I used his car. Upon entering the vehicle, I let it loose. It wasn’t a “shart” exactly, but I felt below for clarification. Because it sure the hell felt like one.

Well, let me just tell you, the worse smell known to man came out of me. It curled my toes and singed my hair. Thank God I was alone. Except when I looked up, I saw my boss coming toward me. I totally pretended I didn’t see him. I knew I had to move fast. I started the car and drove out of the parking lot, right past him.

I’m surprised I didn’t run him over. But I just could not, under any circumstance, let him in. He would have died. He didn’t know it, but I was saving his life.

Later that afternoon, I felt it again. It was coming and it was coming hard. I was in the office and I knew I needed to get to a private place, quickly. I opted for the file room up in the attic. I knew I’d be safe there.

I climbed the stairs, looked around and let loose. I pulled down my pants because I didn’t want the gasses to linger in my underwear. The smell was horrific. If there was anything alive up in that space, they were now, umm…dead.

I thought I was out of the woods, but what do you know? As luck would have it, who comes up? My boss. Can you believe it? The same man whose life I was trying to save just hours earlier. I was wondering how I was going to get out of this one when he said this:

“Oh My God. What is that smell? I think something died up here. Jocelyn, call the exterminator. I think we’ve got mice.”

He thought something died up there. Yeah, something died. In my butt. I went to my desk and did what he asked. I dialed the number for Mike’s Pest Control.

They came at once and put out mice traps all over the attic. And do you know that smell lasted for a good 4 hours? I wish I could have told him to save his money, because like I said before, if there was anything alive up there, they were now among the dead. I literally and naturally fumigated the place.

But I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t want to be known as the woman whose farts likened to that of a dead mouse. I certainly didn’t need that to be my legacy.

And that, my friends, is how I almost peed my pants on Christmas. I laughed so hard, I probably added a few years to my life. And for that I am grateful. Lord knows, it’s been a trying year with some of my life taken from me.

I know we all have an embarrassing fart story. But this one takes the cake. Now go on and have a Happy New Year! And please, don’t eat anything that could potentially be deadly while coming from your other end. Or you might get pest control called on you.

The Day She Stopped Believing In Santa Claus

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This time of year inevitably brings about the curiosity from children on the cusp of what to think of Santa. You can see it in their eyes. They aren’t quite sure what to do. Their brains start to wonder how it’s possible but yet they are afraid of the answer.

This is how it went down in my house when The Kid was on that very cusp about 7 years ago:

Her: Mom, is there a Santa Claus?

Me: Yes honey, of course there is.

Her: Mom, please. I’m asking you to tell me the truth.

Me: Well, what do YOU think?

Her: Mom, just tell me. Please…or I’m screwed.

Did our 9 year old just say “screwed?” Yes, yes she did.

After DH reprimanded her for using bad language and after I stopped laughing because come on, that was funny, I needed to know what she meant. There are a few different meanings to “screwed” and although I knew she wasn’t referring to the one “screwed” that I automatically think of because I have a dirty mind, I needed clarification.

Me: What do you mean by “screwed” exactly?

Her: Well, what am I going to tell my children? How will I know if there is a Santa or not if you don’t tell me the truth?

And that’s how it happened. It is known as “the night The Kid stopped believing in Santa” around here and it saddened me. A little.

There was a part of me that was happy the facade was over. No more lying to my kid’s face. No more having this big, fat lie of a man taking credit for all of my hard work. No more trying desperately not to slip up, hoping some loud-mouthed brat on the school bus wouldn’t break her heart.

But it was sad because it was the end of her innocence. She had stopped believing in the Tooth Fairy the year before and I’m not even sure she really ever understood the whole Easter Bunny thing. I’m not even sure I understood the whole Easter Bunny thing. That right there is just plain creepy. If I saw a large, life-sized rabbit hiding eggs in my house, I’d probably stab him with a kitchen knife.

Because a fat man in a red suit coming out of my flue like a raccoon who went into the wrong hole is any less creepy. The only reason I wouldn’t stab him with a kitchen knife is because he is bearing gifts. Eggs? I don’t need to elaborate.

But I digress.

I knew it was coming. I’m pretty sure she was a little apprehensive the prior year. I could sense it. I’m guessing she was afraid to say she didn’t believe anymore for fear of receiving fewer presents. Little did she know it really wouldn’t have made a difference. One of the perks of being an only child? Maybe.

Even though she doesn’t believe in Santa anymore, she believes. She believes in the magic. The love and the generosity. The giving and of course, the receiving. And now that she’s driving? The crowds and the traffic.

Santa may be a lie, but only in that there is no fat man in a red suit flying all over the world delivering toys (damn, kids are gullible). But the spirit of Santa, what he stands for, is alive and kicking.

Merry Christmas my friends. Let the spirit of Santa be within you. And if your kids hate you for lying to them for the past 9 years? Eh. They are going to probably hate you in about 4 years anyway, so get used to it.

 

My Letter of Gratitude To a Stranger

Dear Angel/s On Earth,

I owe you a couple of things. First and foremost, I owe you my gratitude. I will be indebted to you for all of eternity. Except all of eternity doesn’t seem long enough.

I also owe you an update. Because I can only imagine that you must think of her from time to time. Wondering how she is.

How do I know this? Because I get the feeling that is the kind of person/people you are.

On Sunday evening, September 14, 2014 on the west side of Manhattan, you saved my child’s life.

You saw a beautiful young woman fall from the sky in front of your car. You acted fast and not only made sure the vehicle you were in stopped moving, but you got out of this vehicle and stopped the oncoming traffic from going forward. I know the traffic was moving pretty fast, based on what was said by the police and medical personnel, so I consider this to be a fairly brave act on your part.

Without you acting so courageously and quickly, I could possibly no longer be a mother. I could have lost my only child.

As for her condition, after spending an evening in ICU, she continues to heal from her wounds. We are working diligently to get her back to her previous self, but she will make a full recovery. Thankfully.  The best part is that she doesn’t remember a thing. That is a blessing.

My child is a miracle. I am thankful, grateful every single day for her life. There isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t thank God and her guardian angels. You included. You were put in our lives at just the right moment. So, thank you for being there. Had it not been for you, I am aware that the outcome could have been very different. 

I am sorry that I didn’t thank you that evening. I think I saw you at the scene, consoling others. But I didn’t learn of who you actually were until the details started coming in. The police report didn’t list any eye witnesses so I can’t reach out to you personally.

I hope, by some miracle, this letter makes its way to you. I need you to know that I think of you often and send a silent “thank you” your way.

There really aren’t enough words to explain how I feel, how grateful I am that you were placed in our path that evening. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for what you did for us. I am so incredibly thankful for your presence. For your concern. For your level of caring.

God Bless You. I wish you well and know all good things will come your way. Have a wonderful holiday and a happy new year.

Signed,

A happy and extremely blessed mother

 

The Stage of Invincibility or Welcome To the Teen Years

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I remember when The Kid was an infant and I was carrying her around in one of those convertible car seat numbers. DH and I were at this store where they sell plants. I don’t know why because my thumb is just about as green as a carrot, but there we were.

A lovely woman walked up to me and said, “Enjoy this stage because it’s the easiest.” I looked at her like she was nuts.

I was in the throe’s of midnight feedings, witching hours and projectile vomit. Not to mention the dairy factory hanging from my chest that made more milk than was demanded. There was no way in hell that she knew what she was talking about.

It turns out, she did know what she was talking about. She was totally and completely 110% correct. The terrible twos were just that. And the threes were beyond awful. I didn’t think anything could be as hard as the threes.

But alas…there was something. The Teen Years. It’s like trying to pass a rock through your rectum. It’s really hard.

I remember being a teen. I sucked. Although my teen isn’t as horrible as I was, she’s still a teen. I will put money down that even Mother Teresa wasn’t all that great when she was 16. Okay, maybe she was. Bad example.

I’m talking about the attitude. You know the one? Yeah, that. Sometimes I fear her. My kid. The kid I pushed out of my down below. The kid I gave life to. The kid who is 31 years younger than me and weighs as much as that one persistent chin hair that keeps appearing out of nowhere.

When I ask a simple question like, “did you do your homework or empty the dishwasher,” I am met by Sybil, the girl with 16 personalities. Accompanied with the ever-present eye-roll. The eye-roll that is universally understood. It says, “I hate you, you are annoying, now go away.”

On top of that, there’s the worry. It was so easy when you knew exactly where they were. Which was usually within yards of us.

There was the quiet fear of injuries from jumping on beds or if they were going to decide to play Hide & Seek when you turned your back for 2 seconds at Kohl’s. Instantly turning us moms into crazed lunatics, screaming for our children, thinking they were gone forever, when they were merely feet away, mocking us from under a clothes round.

These days there are boys (or girls), and cars, and drugs, and alcohol everywhere.  Not to mention social media. Hoping they don’t befriend some deranged stranger who may come and chop her up into little pieces behind the mall.

All these things make you worry so bad, the grays are doing double-time. The wrinkles making a map to Hell on your forehead.

There is also the very simple, scientifically proven fact that teenagers’ brains aren’t fully developed; therefore, allowing them to truly feel they are invincible. This little scientific fact lasts until a human is into their twenties. God help us.

So, what is my advice to survive this stage that is called Teen-dom?

  1. A thick skin
  2. Advil
  3. Strong vodka
  4. Enough patience to make Job (you know, that guy from the bible?) seem like a toddler
  5. Prayer

Other than all that, teens are great. You know, if you like to sit through the same episode of *Caillou 2,000 times while someone is hitting you in the face with a mallet.

Okay, so I’m exaggerating a little. Perhaps the mallet isn’t necessary.

*For those of you who are blissfully unaware of who Caillou (kie-you) is, he is an annoying and whiney little 4-year old who was created to make the lives of parents everywhere absolute hell on earth.

Really Stupid Post About Why Today Kinda Sucked For Me

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What’s left of my next best thing to a “Cronut”

I had a really off day today. Actually, it was more than just “off.” It was downright B.A.D. I don’t know if it’s the weather, the fact that Christmas is 2 weeks away and I’m not ready for it or if my PMS is working double-time.

Every-freaking-thing is annoying me. Ev-er-y-thing. From the sound of human voices to the oil man in my driveway giving us $23,000-an-ounce liquid so we don’t freeze our asses off during this ridiculous winter that technically hasn’t even started yet.

What else is pissing me off, you ask? Let me tell you…

  • The fact that I have 100 Christmas cards sitting in Costco waiting to be picked up so I can spend an entire day (note the exaggeration there?) addressing and licking envelopes to send out to people. Some people who we haven’t seen or heard from in 22 years. People who will most likely take the card I spent 2 hours making sure was perfect and just throw it in the trash on January 1st (guilty).
  • The fact that I signed up for a cookie exchange and I committed to making 8 dozen cookies. Do you know what that involves? Shopping for ingredients like almond extract that I will use an 8th of a teaspoon for and then never use again. Not to mention a full day standing on my feet baking. Can’t I just go and drink wine and eat? I’m really good at drinking wine and eating. I am. You can ask anyone.
  • The fact that I have to get down on my ever-loving hands and knees to water a Christmas tree that, no matter how much aspirin or TLC we put into it, seems to die 2 days after putting it up. Have you seen a 47 year old woman with bad knees try to extricate herself from under a pine tree that is in a house and then proceed to try to get up from a half lying position on the floor? It ain’t graceful, I can promise you that.
  • The fact that I had 2 thousand phone calls to make today. I don’t want to make phone calls. I hate making phone calls. Why in the hell are there always phone calls to make? Does someone have an answer to that one? Because I’d like to know.
  • The fact that I have three loads of folded laundry waiting to be put away and just as many loads waiting to be washed.
  • The fact that 2 of the 3 toilets in my house need a scrubbing. Rugs that need to be vacuumed. A coffee table that needs dusting.
  • The fact that I sat in my PJ’s all day long, didn’t pick up my 100 Christmas cards at Costco, didn’t make but 1/2 a phone call. Or did the laundry. Or any of the above.

Do you know what I did do today?

When The Kid got home from school, it looked like she was having a bad day too. So, instead of saying, “it’s okay, shake it off, have an apple.” I say, “freak this, let’s go get french fries. And when we’re done with that, let’s get some of those new croissant donut things at Dunkin’ Donuts.” So we did.

Except DD didn’t have any croissant donut things left so I freaked and almost died right there in the drive-up lane. All I can say is that it’s a darn good thing they sell other flavors.

Now I’m pissed that I didn’t have the willpower to say, “let’s have an apple.” You know, as I watch my muffin top grow larger with every bite.

Oh freak that, no I’m not. I’m not pissed. Not at all. I enjoyed every minute. And The Kid and I laughed so hard during our little jaunt. We both needed it. Even if at the cost of a pound or two. Eh, maybe three (for me, not her).

(Yes, that’s me eating a donut in slo-mo, because why not?)

Yes, I appreciate my life. Yes, I’m grateful for our health and safety. Yes, I love Christmas. Still, I’m allowed to have a bad day.

So, I’m going back to bed. And starting over. Tomorrow. I hope.

If I’m lucky Dunkin’ Donuts will burn to the ground while I sleep. But then I will never get my Cronut. Looks like I may have a problem, Houston.

Oh Sleep, Why Do You Forsaken Me?

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Yeah, I’m pretty sure this isn’t true.

I am a sleeper. Except for the very rare occasion that I cannot get my slumber on. When I say “rare,” I mean “rare” as in the number of kangaroos there are in Connecticut. In other words, I sleep. And I do it well.

I am of the laid-back ilk. Sure, I could have things on my mind, but once my head hits that pillow, it all goes into a little secret compartment somewhere. I’m not really sure where that compartment is. I think about that about as much as I do my thoughts when I’m sleeping. In case you missed it, that is never.

Anyway, at 3am this morning, my eyes flew open like a pair of French doors during a Texan hurricane. And every freaking thought known to man came crawling out of that little secret compartment, wherever it is, and started mocking me.

What were my thoughts? Let me tell you.

  • “Super Bad” wasn’t as good as people said it was. In fact, it was kind of stupid. But damn, that guy Seth reminds me of someone I know.
  • Ugh, I still have to get my damn Christmas village out. Can’t I skip it this year? No, no. The Kid will get upset. It’s all about her. Oh screw that. I don’t want to put it out. Okay, I will.
  • What kind of dairy free cookies can I bake? But they’ll probably taste like shit. Maybe I’ll do it next year. Ok, I’ll do it next year. Oh, but then I’ll feel bad.
  • I probably should go to church. Think there are any names left on the Giving Tree that aren’t for hotel sized shampoo bottles for the homeless shelter?
  • I should check Facebook. I’m pretty sure I got a couple hundred new followers while I lie here not sleeping. I’m sure of it.
  • I wonder if Kohl’s is having a sale on comforters. I should get one. It’s good to have extra comforters.
  • Speaking of comforters, I need to change the sheets.
  • I used to love roller skating. I should go roller skating. Where can I go roller skating? Oh, I’ll probably make an ass of myself or get hurt. Never mind.
  • My nose is whistling. Why don’t I have tissues on my night stand? But then I might wake up DH. I should just get up.
  • I wonder if I still snore. Hmm, I probably should go see someone about that. But then what if I have to have surgery or something. It might hurt. I can live with my snoring.
  • My nose is still whistling. I have to pee. I should really just get up.
  • I’m not going to church. I’m too tired.
  • Eww, my stomach is really flabby.

And then I got up. I peed and blew my nose. I went downstairs on the couch and looked at Facebook. I didn’t get hundreds of new followers, but I did get 4. I announced to the world that I can’t sleep and had a short conversation with a couple of other insomniacs.

I was amazed at how anxious I felt. I felt the urge to go check on The Kid. Something I hadn’t done in at least 3 months. I had to fight the feeling. Okay, so I did look in her room. But I couldn’t see anything because it was dark.

Then I finally fell asleep. At around 6am (I think). When I woke at around 10, it felt like someone hit me with a Mack truck. The feeling was very reminiscent of when I worked in My Retail Job. Which translates to “I never want to do that again.”

The next time I can’t sleep? NyQuil should do the trick. I’m just hoping I don’t need to start buying stock in it. That would royally suck.

 

 

 

A Humorous Moment. My Visit with Jane Green and StacyKnows! (Guest Post by Erin of Emma Westchester)

A couple of weeks ago, I read on StacyKnows.com that Jane Green, one of my favorite chick-lit authors of all time, was going to be at the White Plains Library, less than 5 minutes from my home. I grew up with Jane Green, figuratively.  She created characters that I related to through my 20s and 30s, going from singlehood to married life to being a mother.   Every time a new book would come out, it seemed as if I had written it, when really I had been living it.

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Her writing is based on what most women can relate to…boyfriend finding, making good and bad decisions, career moves, girl drama, in-law troubles and more.  Some of my favorite Jane Green titles include Mr. Maybe, The Other Woman and Swapping Lives.  So a big thanks to StacyKnows for letting me know that I was going to be able to meet Jane Green right in my own backyard.  I arrived early, figuring a 14 time New York Times Bestselling Author would draw a massive audience with hundreds of guests, fighting for her attention and her autograph.  Nope.   I would guess that there were 25-30 women present and as I eavesdropped on some of the women in the audience, many had not read her books!

Did they know who they were waiting for and how lucky they were to have the chance to see her in such an intimate setting?  Teresa Guidice from the Real Housewives of New Jersey packs the house when she launches a disgusting sparkling wine at a liquor store AND it makes the front page of the local newspaper to boot!  Jane Green speaks to people at a library and there are more empty seats than filled seats.  Regardless, I consider myself lucky and wait patiently.

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Jane stands at the podium and speaks to the audience in her soft voice, complete with English accent, which I have never “heard” in her books.  She grew up in London and considers herself the founder of chick-lit, as she was one of the first to write about the real life complexities of women’s lives.  Besides writing novels she has written for publications in the UK and US, covering the royal wedding and being a guest of Martha Stewart’s as she also enjoys cooking and gardening.   She spoke about writing in general and said that she is a reader first, and an “observer of life” and that is what helps her create her characters and her plots.  To be a writer, she suggests that you need to live life and tell stories.

Great news for me, as I  am not a trained writer.  I have not taken a writing class in years but I like writing about experiences and moments and sharing them with others.  The timing of hearing these words from someone I admired for so long was uncanny.  I am relieved that I do not have to feel pressured to “learn to write” for this blog.  I feel comfortable living life, observing and recording moments as they happen.

So when does this become humorous?   When the lecture ends, Jane sells and signs copies of her new book Tempting Fate.  I realize that the library is only accepting cash.  I have a giant bag with an iPhone, and iPad and a wallet filled with credit cards.  No credit cards, they say.  Cash Only.  I find my Girl Scout troop checkbook and consider borrowing $20 from the troop and depositing the loaned $20 back during the week.

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It was then that I spoke with StacyKnows and she kindly lent me a twenty dollar bill so I could buy Jane Green’s 15th book!   The person who made me aware of the event in the first place also made it possible for me to bring a copy of the signed book home.   I went home and immediately paypal-ed StacyKnows $20 with an apology combined with a thank you in the memo box….. “thanks for lending me $20 today.”

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My new friends — Shawna Lubner and Erin Baker

Bio: Emma Westchester is a fictional character, based on two women who are polar opposites on paper, but almost identical in real life. Erin is a fourth-generation native of Westchester County and Shawna was raised on the West Coast and became the accidental suburban when she moved from Manhattan. We came up with the phrase “moms like us” to reach and connect with moms like ourselves. This lifestyle blog caters to women in Westchester County, NY where we discover & share quality experiences, unique brands and humorous moments in our lives with “Moms Like Us”.  

Our Family Christmas Letter – Volume 2

Dear friends and family (yes, that includes you, high school friend who I haven’t seen or spoken to since 1986…remember me?),

So, here we are again. Christmas time. Why does it seem like I just vacuumed up the last pine needle from last year? Because I did. Literally. Just in time for those little bastards to make another mess all over my wood floors, mocking me from their safe little crevice haven. Just so you know, I’m coming back as a pine needle in my next life. Those guys have the shelf life of a Twinkie. And who doesn’t want to live as long as a Twinkie? Wait…let me rethink that.

I am sitting here, sipping my irish cream, making up every excuse in the book to not start decorating. I mean, I love the look and feel of my halls all decked out, but I just don’t want to do it. Besides, sipping irish cream is so much more fun.

But let’s face it, after I bust my back from lugging up the 500 pounds of Christmas shit from the basement, most of it leftover from my mother’s leftovers but have to put up because otherwise The Kid will throw a fit and say something stupid like, “but it’s a tradition,” I’m damn exhausted.

Why the hell can’t someone invent a magic elf to come and perform some holiday decorating magic? You know like that little Elf on the Shelf guy but not as creepy. Or annoying.

C’est la vie or feliz navidad or whatever.

Anyway, I know you are all dying to know what our little family has been up to in the last 12 months. You can take a breath now, because I’m going to tell you.

The Kid is great, awesome, smart, healthy, lovely, sweet as pie. She’s perfect in every way. Oh, who am I kidding? She’s 16 years old. Did you hear me? Sixteen. Sure, she’s smart, healthy (thank you God) and she is lovely looking. She has good genes after all. And she can be sweet as pie. You know, when she needs something or has the stomach bug or she knows she’s in trouble. Otherwise, the only pie she’s as sweet as is a pecan number left out in the sun for 14 days.

I will say she has the gift of negotiation otherwise known as “taking advantage of her parents.” Kudos to her. Damn. If I could have gotten away with that when I was her age, I would have the gift too. Oh, how times have changed.

She got her license a couple of months back. Sure, it makes my life easier. I love sending her down to the corner for bread or milk or something I forgot at Shop Rite because that’s what I do. Forget stuff. But the level of stress that comes with having a child out driving a 2 ton machine? It’s high. You think that time when you lost your kid for 40 seconds in the mall and you were pretty sure she was stolen and already halfway to Mexico was bad? This has got nothing on that.

God bless all mothers of teens. Why can’t we eat our young like they do in the wild? Because we’d get arrested. Stupid laws.

My Dear Husband is great. He is working hard. Keeping a roof over our heads so I don’t have to. He doesn’t have his motorcycle anymore because he had a little mishap. He is fine, thank goodness. His bike, not so much. I’m sad. Mainly because it doesn’t spend its winter in the living room as usual. Now I have to find something to put in that space. First world problems, what can I say. The man looks as damn good as he did in the last holiday letter I sent out. Can’t fatten him up, no matter how hard I try. It’s okay though, because I’ve done it for him. Fatten myself up, I mean.

As for me…I love keeping my sweet house and making sure order is maintained. Just call me Carol Brady. Oh wait, that bitch had a house maid who cooked, cleaned, did the laundry, grocery shopping and everything in between. Yes, I am a Carol wannabe. Because I actually hate all of the above mentioned bull crap. Instead, I live vicariously through her while watching old episodes of The Bunch on Nick At Nite. I have been known to salivate at the screen. And not because Mike is hot. Even though he’s dead now. Poor guy. Also, I guess it turns out he was probably more into Greg than Carol. I never knew.

We went to Hawaii over the summer. Jealous, are you? Well, don’t be. Because that’s a lie. But we did go to a luau-themed party. It was so much fun. I got to drink something alcoholic out of a plastic coconut. Probably the closest I’ll ever get to the real thing so I’ll take it. Hawaii? Maybe next year.

Well no. There won’t be a Hawaiian trip next year either because our kid is going to college the year after that and we will not be able to afford to drive to the outlet center let alone take a trip to paradise. So, we had to make a decision…exotic trip or educated kid. Unfortunately, the Kid wins, once again. Mainly because we don’t really want her mooching off of us for all of eternity. I know, it’s selfish of us.

That just about sums it up. We are happy, healthy and alive. What else could I hope for? Well, a live-in maid and a million bucks would be nice. But since there really is no such thing as a Magic Genie, I’ll have to settle for my Clorox Wipes and our water jug filled to the brim with coins. Hey wait. Think there’s a Hawaiian trip in there?

Sincerely,

Mo

Oh, and my family. Of course. Even though they were not harmed, or involved in the creation of this letter in any way.