Last night, I attended a Police concert. No Mom, not actual law enforcement personnel, but The Police…as in the band with a guy named Sting.
Can anyone tell me what happened to the young fellas who once danced around on MTV? Because those guys are gone. Someone went and replaced them with three well-over-middle-aged men.
And, you know what else happened? The audience went and got old too. The binocular rental booth was hopping, and if I had a dollar for every gray hair I saw, my family would be sitting pretty for generations to come. If I was a geriatric physician, I would have been handing out business cards.
What’s really sad about the whole thing, is that it means I’m aging as well. For crying out loud, I walked to the show with orthotics in my shoes, and at one point I almost had to stop and stretch. Darn youngsters designing those long city blocks.
But, as long as those boys keep playing, I’ll continue to wear my arch supports and dance…okay, sit.
“Honey, break out the bifocals…Def Leppard’s coming to town.”
In case you were beginning to think my five year old son is always a sweetheart, here is an e-mail I received from our niece yesterday. She babysat the kids Thursday evening…
I forgot to tell you something about your boy last night…so we’re laying down together reading a lovely Dr. Suess novel in bed…me thinking he was drifting off to sleep as we were on page 58 of this never ending rhyme, and all of a sudden your boy, out of nowhere, bites my nose (it was gentle – no need to panic).
After I muffle my laughing because that is just such a typical thing for him to do, I asked him why he did it and he said because he wanted me to stop reading. So glad to see he uses his words!
Of course as soon as I stopped reading he told me to read it again. I just thought I’d share, because I remembered it and started laughing again at work.
This would be why we only hire babysitters who have a twisted sense of humor. That way, we know they’ll fit right in.
Good thing Google Adsense pays me a whole $1.72 a month.
UPDATE: I am in no way asking you to click on my Google Ad. That would be in violation of their policy and I can’t condone that. Because if they pull it, how would I afford that half gallon of gas?
My husband cringes when I tell gross stories about our dog. But, I feel it is my duty as a dog owner. These beasts don’t stay adorable puppies forever, and people who are thinking about getting one should know the truth. It’s the equivalent of having a baby and thinking it’s all about the snuggling and cooing, when it’s really about spit-up and projectile poop.
Our dog has bad, bad gas. The type of silent flatulence that makes you want to curl up in the fetal position and whimper, “Tell me when it’s over.” She emits fumes which make the leaves on the houseplants shrivel up and die.
They used to smell like chicken. Rotten chicken. But, lately she’s been eating grass…a lot. I fear we’re going to get a contact buzz, because now her farts smell like the seats near the rafters of a Lynyrd Skynyrd concert. Next thing you know, she’ll be wearing a tie-dyed collar and doggie moccasins.
If you’re thinking of getting a puppy, do yourself a favor and invest in a gas mask…and don’t say I didn’t warn you.