Tag Archives: hilarious

You Know You’re The Mom of a Girl IF …

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You Know You're the Mom of a Girl IF...

While writing a piece on translating “Momisms” into what we really mean, I realized there are some commonalities among moms of each sex that bond us together. Every child is different … I know they’re not all girly girls — which is why you should check out  “You Know You’re the Mom of A Boy IF…”  and see how many ring true, as well.

You Know You’re the Mom of a Girl IF…

1.  You do more pretend cooking in a miniature kitchen than you do actual cooking in the full sized one (and frankly, you’re not sure which tastes better).

2.  You secretly wish there was some mommy competition involving your child’s trendy crafts because you’re a freakin’ whiz on the Rainbow Loom, you make a mean potholder, and you’re not so bad with a spool of gimp ahem, lanyard.

3.  You find yourself searching “How to Do a Fishtail Braid” on YouTube.

4.  You wonder how young is too young to start plucking her eyebrows?

5.  You have the ability to turn a field day/camp tee into an off the shoulder, bedazzled, designer dud in the time it would take a child to throw a “fashion tantrum.”

6.  You understood what I meant when I coined the term “fashion tantrum.”

7.  You find yourself playing with pretty much the same toys you played with when you were little, only the slutted-up versions. (See Polly Pocket, Rainbow Brite, and Strawberrry Shortcake.)

8.  A dance party, song fest, or drawing competition may be impromptu … but it’s never unexpected.

9.  Somehow you always get to be the ugly, ratty Barbie with the hair plugs showing from a haircut gone awry, and the one hand that’s been chewed off by the dog.

10. Your coveted jewelry, handbags, and heels have become someone else’s playthings.

11. You know from Furby and Fijit Friends.

12. There’s a creepy-ass Lalaloopsy doll staring at you with those “Coraline” button eyes that you’re pretty sure comes to life when you sleep.

13. Dealing with a monumental breakdown over the over the tag in a shirt, the seam on the sock, or the color of a pair of undies seems totally normal (see fashion tantrum).

14. You know the one rule about stuffed animals: One Can Never Have Too Many of Them!

15. That chick’s got an at-ti-tude and you know exactly where she got it from, though you won’t admit it.

16. You probably have a sticker or something shimmery stuck to you right now.

17. Your make-believe life is way more exiting than your actual life.

18. Glitter to a girl is like the Windex in My Big Fat Greek Wedding … it cures everything… at the very least it makes it more tolerable.

19. You are willing to accept a severely sub par mani-pedi or 3 (in a row) because your child has set up a salon and you’re the only one dumb enough to show up for your appointment.

20. It looks like the Disney Princesses threw up in your car.

21.  You haven’t heard your actual name the entire day, but you’ve been beckoned relentlessly.

22. You know a female wears the pants in your family (you just didn’t think they’d be a size 3T).

23.  You fear the day she gets her period because it sometimes seem like she has PMS already.

24.  Lying is always an option as in … “I’m sorry, they stopped selling Bratz dolls.” “I love the outfit you put together yourself… stripes and zig-zag look great together.” and “Yes, you do sound like Beyonce when you sing.”

25. You can’t wait until she’s old enough to watch Grease, Xanadu, Clueless, or anything by John Hughes.

26. The term rainbow-unicorn can answer almost any question. How do you want to decorate your room? What’s your favorite color? What do you want to be when you grow up?

27. ANYTHING can be over-dramatized… a trip to Target feels like a Spanish soap opera.

28. There’s a My Little Pony in your purse.

29. You hope to one day share a “Best Friends” charm.

30. You’ve made yourself an amazing companion (attitude and all) that’s redefined the magnitude of love you ever thought you had to give.

Related post:  “You Know You’re the Mom of A Boy IF…”

BE AWESOME, SHARE THIS WITH OTHER MOMS

BE AWESOMER, TELL MY DAUGHTER TO GIVE ME ONE OF THE CUTE BARBIES SOMETIME 

Related Post: Barbie and I Can’t Get Our Skinny Jeans Over Our Thighs

25 Signs That You Are Definitely a Mom

 

You Know You’re the Mom of a Boy IF …

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You Know You're the Mom of a Boy IF...

While writing a piece on translating “Momisms” into what we really mean, I realized there are some commonalities among moms of each sex that bond us together. Of course every child is different, but if you’re the mom of a boy, I’m guessing some of these will sound (and smell) all too familiar.

You know you’re the mom of a boy if …

  1. You find yourself holding a living creature that you would usually run away from screaming.
  2. A girl makes eyes at your son and you have this weird urge to pull her aside and call her a “slut” (whether she’s 6 or 16).
  3. You have an unhealthy knowledge of the point/gem system for Temple Run, Dragonvale, Bakugan, Plants vs. Zombies, Cube Runner …
  4. You can’t muster the brain power to recall what you ate for breakfast, yet you can inherently transform a Transformer (without the 30 pages of directions it came with).
  5. You bought a car based solely on how much equipment you could fit in the trunk.
  6. Your child asks you to marry him and you’re totally considering it.
  7. You know what a Ripstik is and you’re not afraid to use it.
  8. You spend much of your days in a fog of fart odor and some of it is proudly yours. (What? How else can you impress your male offspring?)
  9. A little penis seems to be constantly whizzing by (well, let’s hope that’s your sons).
  10. You’ve actually placed yourself under a tree with the feeling that, if that kiddo loses footing you’ll at least be there to break his fall.
  11. You know the pain of stepping on a Lego … and may in fact, have one imbedded somewhere in your body right now.
  12. There’s a finger in your eye, your ear, or up your nose and it’s not yours.
  13. You understand what I mean when I say “bleacher butt,” as in, “My sits bones are literally numb, I have bleacher butt.”
  14. There’s a rogue Bey Blade in your purse.
  15. You’ve found yourself saying things like, “No, you can’t ride the dog.” and “Yes, you do have to keep your pants on in public.”
  16. You’ve had in depth conversations about who would win in multiple variations of match-ups involving Spider-Man, Iron Man, Captain America, X-Men, Daddy …
  17. You can’t wait until he’s old enough to watch Airplane, The Naked Gun, Caddy Shack, Vacation, Fletch, The Three Amigos…
  18. Though you claim to be an absolute pacifist, you’ve had a talk that involved you urging, “Sometimes you gotta push back.”
  19. You’ve considered leashing your son at a theme park and he’s 12.
  20. You’re on a first name basis with the orderlies at the ER who provide slings, splints, casts, and those velcro boots.
  21. You may have shamefully thought, “It wouldn’t be so bad if he married an orphan.”
  22. There’s a finger in your eye, your ear, or up your nose and it’s not yours.
  23. At some point you notice the change in smell from “OMG sooo sweet” to “Get that tween some AXE.”
  24. You can use your keyboard, phone, iPad, but there’s a good chance your fingers will get stuck to it.
  25. There’s a love you feel for your son that’s too great and sometimes too scary to fully explain or even comprehend.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to the women who got a gulp when their babies were born — thinking One day they might leave you for another woman!!!

XO – Jenny From the Blog (Look for the piece: “You Know You’re the Mom of A Girl If…”)

BE AWESOME, SHARE THIS WITH OTHER MOMS

BE AWESOMER, COME GET THOSE RED CLAY STAINS OUT OF MY SON’S BASEBALL PANTS

RELATED POSTS:

25 Signs You are Definitely a Mom

20 Momisms Translated

Moms of Boys Are Jealous Shrews

 

50 Like Totally Random Things I Remember as a Child of Like The 80s

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After writing a recent post on 15 things I’d never know if I weren’t a Gen Xer, I came to realize that I’m some kind of Generation X genius. I mean, I could be the “Rain Man” of the Gen X set. Seriously, throw some quotes on the floor, I’ll tell you who said them. OK, that test may not work as well as it does with toothpicks in the movie.

But I now see that I’m somewhat stuck in the ’80s, and I kinda like it there. So I thought I’d share some of the most random stuff I remember as a Gen X poster child.

1.  Being on a wait list for a Cabbage Patch Kid and not even being able to pick the one you wanted (bonus points if you remember its name — mine was Mitzy Shirley and she had the dreaded short curly hair).

2.  Jumping on the eyes of the alligator with Pit Fall Harry.

3.  Thinking Flash Gordon had the best special effects ever.

4.  That coffee-flavored sucking candy all elderly people had (before anything coffee flavored was cool).

5.  The random Super Friends like the Apache Chief, Gleek, and Samurai.

6.  Screaming, “Oh my God, the girl in Sleepaway Camp has a penis!” Continue reading →

15 Random Things I Wouldn’t Know If I Weren’t a Gen Xer

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Oh, I had both those Barbies and the youngest brother Jimmy. WTF was wrong with me?

Oh, I had both those Barbies and the youngest brother Jimmy. WTF was wrong with me?

About a week ago I turned 40 …

I was telling a friend that I’d totally trade in my Gen X status for that of a 30 year old hipster who wears black rimmed glasses (yet has no prescription). Then I wouldn’t have to admit that I spent most Saturday nights of my childhood hoping beyond hope that Charo would be the surprise guest on The Love Boat or somehow Shari and Lambchop would find themselves in an eerie episode of Fantasy Island where Shari was the puppet. (What, I’m the only one who wished for that story line? I think not.)

No, I wouldn’t know a ton of things about pop culture, big hair, or bad TV, had I not been a poster child for Generation X. Things like this: Continue reading →

50 More Things I Remember as a Child of the 80s

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garbagepail

After writing Tuesday’s post on things I’d never know if I weren’t a Gen Xer, I came to realize that I’m some kind of Generation X genius. I mean, I could be the “Rain Man” of the Gen X set. Seriously, throw some quotes on the floor, I’ll tell you who said them. OK, that test may not work as well as it does with toothpicks in the movie.

But I now see that I’m somewhat stuck in the ’80s, and I kinda like it there. So I thought I’d share some of the most random stuff I remember as a Gen X poster child.

1.  Being on a wait list for a Cabbage Patch Kid and not even being able to pick the one you wanted (bonus points if you remember its name — mine was Mitzy Shirley and she had the dreaded short curly hair).

2.  Jumping on the eyes of the alligator with Pit Fall Harry.

3.  Thinking Flash Gordon had the best special effects ever.

4.  That coffee-flavored sucking candy all elderly people had (before anything coffee flavored was cool).

5.  The random Super Friends like the Apache Chief, Gleek, and Samurai.

6.  Screaming, “Oh my God, the girl in Sleepaway Camp has a penis!”

7.  What kind of G-news Gary Gnu shared.

READ MORE:  (Right click and open the READ MORE in a new tab or window, so you can come back and read Part One – 15 Things I Wouldn’t Know If I Weren’t A Gen Xer)

Feel Your Boobies or Else I Will

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After a lump scare in my late-20′s, I learned that all lumps are not the C-word and it’s totally okay to get to 2nd base with yourself!
Let me tell you a tale, a tale of 2 boobs — mine …
After finding a pea sized lump and getting a needle biopsy, I was told that like the several million other young women with fibrous breast tissue, I would be required to get a yearly mammogram and ultrasound.

I’d heard horrible tales of the mammogram and it’s crushing pain. I feared the impending torture and dreaded that, what little my child bearing and breastfeeding had left unscathed, would be permanently altered.

By the time my appointment had rolled around, the fear of having something less benign than a fibroid cyst had started to set in, as well.  If I can produce one kind of growth with no knowledge of it, why can’t I produce another kind?

While contemplating in the waiting room, I saw a woman, not a day under 100.  OK, if she can do this, so can I, I thought, resigned to get through this.

My tech was a brash woman who was incredibly verbose, and clearly missing the filter most of us are born with.  Maybe there’s some kind of de-inhibiting process that occurs when looking at tatas all day.  I’ll have my husband test my theory at the next bachelor party he attends.

“Okay, let’s see what you got in the bra,” was the tech’s icebreaker.

“The last time someone used that line on me he didn’t even get to first base, let alone second,” I replied, a bit unnerved by her frankness.

“Don’t worry, I’m not lookin’ to make-out,” she quickly retorted, in a “we could do this all day” kinda way.

When I reluctantly disrobed, she cooed, “Aww. They’re so cute and perky.”  Then she giggled to herself, and mumbled something about getting my A’s to stay up on the shelf of the machine.
Though it’s been years since someone actually laughed at the size of my chest, it felt oddly familiar and I patiently waited for the requisite pointing to ensue.

Fred she’s gotten her boobies. Oh, and they are sooo perky.

Luckily, I’m not easily embarrassed.  Being a card carrying member of the IBTC (Itty Bitty Titty Comitteee) prepared me for nothing, if not this.

Not that the IBTC was a club I longed to join.  I desperately tried to make my”itty bitties” bigger.  If shear will power wasn’t enough, surely pairing that with

chest pumps would do the trick.  I must have done a million squeezes while chanting:

We must, we must, we must increase our bust.


The bigger the better, the tighter the sweater.


The boys are counting on us.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.


What’s a bra without a

bust?

Who would have thought such a brilliant plan would fall so, ahem, flat — especially when the 7th grade girls pinky swore it was totally fool proof.

Yeah well, I’m still an A, so who’s the fool now, 7th grade girls?

After enjoying a good chuckle at my “cute and perkies,” my tech stuck on a set of beautiful nipple markers, which are stickers with silver balls that resemble starter earrings.

“Sorry, we’re all out of fringe,”  she informed me, still getting a kick out of herself.

As it turned out, she was right to laugh at the size of my boobs. The first time on the shelf they slipped right out. The intense squeezing actually slung-shot them back towards my body.

“What?  Did you butter those puppies?“  She asked, with a snort.

I ignored her, rubbing my chest to stop the vibration the ricochet had caused.

The second time she was more thorough, and she managed to get a couple ribs onboard, as anchors, I assume.

“Um, excuse me, is it okay that you have bones in there too?”

“Don’t worry.  They won’t break.”

Squeeze, squeeze, squeezing harder. Shelf lifting.  I raised myself onto my tippy-toes to avoid my bosoms being ripped clean off.

More squeezing. CRUNCH.

“That sounded like bone, no?”

“Just one more squeeze.”

“Seriously? I think milk might come out!”

“Oh, when was the last time you breastfed?”

“Umm, 6 years ago.”

After flattening my boobs into pancakes, I felt like a cartoon victim of a falling anvil. I patiently waited for them to snap back, or for an animated squirrel to come along, stick in a tube in them and pump them up.

But alas, no squirrels or skunks or other well meaning rodents came to my rescue, so I rolled them up and shoved them back into my bra.

As I passed the waiting room, I noticed the same elderly woman shakily stick her nipple markers in a plastic baggy and into her purse — where they most likely sunk into an abyss of sucking candies, saltines, and Sweet N’ Low packets.

I imagined one kinky grandpa with a bottle of Viagra, eagerly awaiting her return, and got a chuckle of my own.  If your boobs hang down to your knees and grandpa’s sight isn’t what it used to be, he might need some assistance finding your nipples.

That’s one thing the members of the IBTC don’t have to worry about … gravity.

The findings revealed another cyst that after a follow-up ultrasound, came back negative.  I told my body, it is not allowed to create so much as a zit without my permission from here on out.  I will still be at next year’s appointment in case my body disobeys my explicit instructions. Look, I want the option of stealing nipple markers in about 70 years.

Whether you can find your nipples or not, do your self exams!

PS – It’s National Breast Cancer Awareness month, which is like, the best excuse to get to second base EVER! So take a sec to share this mammogram/breast exam reminder (or any reminder) with all the women in your life or I will come out there and feel you up!!! Oh, I’ll do it!

I May Have Been a Preteen Stalker

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Didn’t we all have adolescent obsessions that bordered on stalking or was that just me?  This story will make your embarrassing moments seem way less embarrassing!  It’s that bad, I’ve never spoken of it.

As you may have noticed from some of my posts, I have a flair for the dramatic.  I recall an experience of such exaggerated intensity with my first crush.  For the sake of the blog and the fact that some of my readers will know him, I’ll call him Eric, Eric Axel.  This pseudonym is not exactly cryptic, it‘s about 2 letters off from his actual name.  Look, I pursued him like an obsessed stalker, I’m sure it’s no surprise to him.

This was old school stalking I’m referring to.  Anyone and everyone stalks now a days — moderen technology: cell phones,  FB,  twitter,  my space, youtube, linkedin — it’s not even impressive.  No, I’m talking about the kind of stalking that took time and effort and premeditation, something to tell your grandchildren about.

So, I’m gonna rip off the Band-Aid, that is this repressed memory, and let the healing begin.  I was in the 7th grade … Continue reading →

Will You be My Sister Wife : Ecard of the Week

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Well, any takers?

My Ecard of the Week

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Social Media peeps, you sooo get this!

-For my twitter tweeps, Linkedin associates, FB friends, blog commenters… this one’s for you!

 

What Those Candy Hearts Should REALLY Say – After Marriage – A little post V-Day fun

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While searching for a pic I found this. I guess I

On Valentine’s Day I was reading through the V-day Sweethearts, you know, the conversation hearts, the ones that are supposed to represent the sweet nothings you would whisper in your lover’s ear before bed. Like: I love you, be mine, kiss me… blah blah blah. So in that vein, I’ve made a list of what should be etched in red on those cute little hearts.

BTW this article is not for newlyweds, so you can refrain from reading and telling me how head over heels you are. Give it a few years. Ahem- I mean, I’m happy for you. Frankly, you can avoid this article unless you’re past the 7 year itch. Sorry, but resentment and boredom takes time to cure, like a salami.

WIVES CONVERSATION HEARTS:

I BOUGHT ANOTHER PAIR OF SHOES, DON’T WORRY THEY WERE ON SALE

SHH… THE REAL HOUSEWIVES OF BEVERLY HILLS IS ON

NO, I WON’T PUT THAT IN MY MOUTH Continue reading →

Mom: Can you Die of Constipation… Elvis Did

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He kinda looks constipated here

My son’s birthday is the same day as the King.  Oh, you know, THE King.  This is the enlightening conversation we had to commemorate his birthday.  I hope the King had other conversations to eavesdrop on at the time.

Jake: Elvis died in the bathroom.

Me:  Did he?

Jake:  He was constipated, did you know you could die of that?

Ryan: He was not constipated.  He died of doing too much drugs.

Wow that “Just say NO” campaign they start in Kindergarten has left my 7yr old speaking as if she knows of what she speaks. 

Thanks for that.

Jake:  He did not.

Ryan: Did too.

Jake:  He died on the toilet.

Ryan: Ok maybe he died in the bathroom, but it was drugs not constipation!  What was he like, urgh urgh, grunt… oops, I’m dead?

Jake:  Or wait, did he die in a bathtub?… No that was Jim Morrison.

My kids don’t know shit about current affairs but somehow this stuff sticks with them.

Jake:  Yeah, Jim Morrison did too many drugs.

Ryan:  Maybe he was constipated.

I wonder where she got that sarcasm from?

BTW – Here’s what comes up if you ask if Elvis died of constipation: it has been widely reported that Elvis Presley died in 1977 from cardiac arrhythmia, an irregular heartbeat, possibly brought on by drug dependency, obesity and a weak heart. But the music legend’s longtime friend and physician, Dr. George “Nick” Nichopoulos, has put pen to paper for the first time and revealed his belief that it was chronic constipation that actually killed the King of Rock and Roll.

Hmmmm?

WHILE YOU’RE HERE CHECK OUT WHAT’S GOING ON AT MY OTHER SITE:  I’m a Jewish mom, what’s your excuse?

My last post is below. Only read it if you plan not to verbally assault me for writing it!!!

So, I Have a Cleaning Lady – No Need for Verbal Assaults

Written by Jenny From the Blog of THE SUBURBAN JUNGLE

This story ended up in a book of hilarious Mom essays, but it was originally run when I first started blogging, by a major newspaper and their coordinating website, I will not name where.
No, stop asking, ‘cuz I won’t.
Don’t tickle me… stop it.  
ENOUGH.

Ok – the response was a mostly a verbal assault and a judgmental lashing from people who would never spend their hard earned money to have someone else help around the house.  Personally, I have no problem spending my husbands hard earned money to have someone do that.  (What, you think blogging pays a ton?)  

Ironic, comparison right ‘cuz she was the hired nanny.

Frankly, I would consider spending my last dollar on it.  In fact I would clean someone else’s house to make the money to pay someone to clean my own.  I feel I don’t need to apologize for the sanity and extra time I get to play with my kids or the joyful feeling I get from walking into my home- like Julie Andrew’s character feels in the Sound of Music when she’s spinning on the mountain top singing, “The Hills are Alive.”

Oh, you can picture me doing it right?
Cuz I do.  
With song.  
And a flowy 1940‘sesque dress.  
Every time I walk in and smell the fresh scent of Lysol “Fresh Scent.”

I thought I would let you all decide if you can relate or if I’m a horrible person  – for liking a clean house – for putting this extravagance in my budget – for wearing frocks…

Here goes:  Read MORE

A Freudian Slip to Make Freud Blush | Oh, This Really Happened

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I know he seems more angry than "blushy" but YOU try and get a picture of him embarrassed!

This post needs to be filed in the crevices of my mind where repressed memories are stored and then covered up by something to obsess about, like my cellulite, or the wrinkles on my face that multiply faster then the Duggar family.


Maybe I could slide this memory somewhere between my talent show version of Gonna Dress You up In My Love and my entire 7th grade year.  Well, here goes…Recently at a baseball game, a mom friend and I were having a bout of witty banter that went terribly horribly irrefutably awry.

I can’t blame myself for how far it actually went, as I’m quite sure something else in the universe caused these events to unfold as they did.  Some butterfly in Africa probably told a really tacky joke which set off the chain of events off in the first place.  You know, something that started with “An ant and a grasshopper are looking for insect porn.”  Well, I actually can’t pretend to know what kind of joke a butterfly would tell, but one can assume.

Me and this chick were joking about a penchant many women have to bedazzle everything. Frankly, I don’t know how every word on their t-shirts is bedecked and bejeweled or how they have so many extra gem filled grommets and studs on their jeans, their sweats, their shoes, their handbags, their children, and their cellphones.  I just know that the glare makes it hard to look in their direction for fear of burning a retina.

Amy: Jenny, why don’t YOU have anything bedazzled?

Me:  Oh, I do, you just can’t see it.

Amy:  Where is it?

Me:  My belly-button.  I have one of those sticky diamond tattoos in the shape of a baseball.  It helps me get into the game.

Amy:  You could tie your t-shirt southern style to show your support for your team.  The dads would love that.

Me:  No, I like to take the shirt from the bottom and pull it up through the neck hole.  You know, camp style? The dads will definitely enjoy that one ‘cuz a boob inevitably falls out.

Amy: And then your hubby could bedazzle something for the moms.

Me:  Done.

Amy: Noooo?

Me:  Yes, his penis is bedazzled to look like a bat… and when Jake’s up, Mark runs over and whacks me on the stomach with it and we all scream “Go Jake, whack that ball.”

Amy:  Nuh uh?

Me:  Yuh huh.

Oh, it went there.  There was no stopping this tacky reparte train, but what happened next turned said train into a locomotive careening off the tracks. I turned towards my hubby who was sitting on the other set of bleachers and screamed, “Mark, come on over here and show Amy your penis.”

Let me tell you two things in my defense.  1.  I meant to say “bat.”  “Mark, come over here and show Amy your BAT.”  You know, joke joke, wink wink, snicker snicker?  No harm done. No children traumatized for life.  2.  There were about 10 kids all aged 9 a row in from of us on the bleachers. ALL of which turned around and stared me right in the eye!

Amy looked at me, mouth agape.

Me:  Did I just say what I think I said?

Amy:  Oh…my…G-d, you did.

Kid on bleachers:   Did you just say penis?

Amy’s son:  Why do you want my mom to look at Jake’s dad’s penis?

That is perhaps one of the most horrifying questions I’ve ever been asked.  I can still hear it my head as if said in slow motion through a Darth Vader mask.

Amy’s son:  Continuing without pause, “Why would you say that?”

Oh G-d, a question worse than the first, which was punctuated by 10 sets of impressionable eyes trying to stare the answer out of me.

I looked to Amy who was giggling so uncontrollably she could barely stop long enough to say this: “Yeah, why would you say that?”

But she did.

After what felt like an eternity.  I replied, “Did I say penis?”

10 nine year olds in perfect unison: Yep.

Me:  Hee hee hee (fake laugh with snort added for good measure) Nooooo, I meant peanuts.  Your mom was hungry and I wanted Mark to come share his peanuts.  I can’t believe it sounded like that.  That’s so funny, right?  Hee hee ha ha ho ho snort.  Right?

“Ohhhhhh well it sounded like penis,” said the spokesperson for 10 inquisitive kids who enjoy nothing more than the mention of genitalia, diareah, or a good fart joke.

Me:  Just me crazy accent.  Dunt chew knaw? Yes, that was supposed to be “Don’t you know” and it was said in a desperate mix of Jamaican, Irish, and Bostonian with a dash of Catherine Hepburn.

Amy looked at me sidesways as if I was having some weird speech seizure and 10 disinterested kids turned back to watch the game.

Phew.  Thank goodness for easily bored, quickly distracted, ADD ridden children. Not everyone recovers from such a racy and totally inappropriate Freudian slip.  Boot eye deed.

Note to self: NEVER talk to Amy again and stop bedazzeling Mark’s penis!

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