I'm Bringing Sexy Back

Well…not really, but it makes for a good headline doesn’t it? Sorry. That was bad. Besides, I need better underwear to bring sexy back at my house. You know, some drawers that aren’t as old as my refrigerator. Perhaps, if they put an expiration date on underwear, I might actually throw it away instead of hanging on to them until the people in the gym locker room start staring and frowning. Of course, if I didn’t buy all my underwear on the clearance rack at Walmart, I might care about those items more. But hey, I scored a $14 sports bra for $2 there last night. Sweet!

I cannot stay focused this week. About the time I get knee deep in a task, I lapse into the “Oooh, something shiny” syndrome and veer off into another direction. I am full of random thoughts such as:

Am I the only person who is enjoying the fact that Paris Hilton has to spend a little time in jail? Boo hoo. She drove drunk, got caught, caught a break, didn’t follow the rules, and now she has to be punished. Sorry, honey. Daddy can’t buy you out of this one. It’s the spanking you should have gotten twenty years ago. Shut up, do your measly time and then go do some good in the world with all that money instead of partying and wagging your hoo hoo at people.

Is there a 12 step program for a “Dancing With the Stars” addiction? It’s the crystal meth of reality tv. You know you shouldn’t go near it, but you do. One hit and you’re hooked. You find yourself doing the cha-cha when you think no one is looking. On Wednesday morning, you swear you won’t watch it again. By Sunday you’re thinking that maybe you’ll watch just the Monday night episode but certainly not Tuesday. There you are Tuesday night, eyes all glazed over, waiting for your next Apollo Ono fix and trying to convince your husband you should both try dancing lessons. Isn’t it just like an addict to try to suck others in, too? Just one rhumba honey. I swear, you’ll like it.

Ever see someone’s baby for the first time, and it’s an ugly baby? What’s a girl to do? Every parent thinks her kid is beautiful, and I don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, but some babies are downright ugly. Oh, they always grow into a more pleasing form after a while, but how do you cover your initial shock? I usually gush something like, “Isn’t he cute”. But I’m afraid they know. Did they catch that brief flicker of “Whoa, Nellie” in my eyes? I need a better response. Fortunately, this doesn't happen very often.

We need a new rule in my house. If you don’t want me to eat it then put a sign on it or don’t bring it home. Hubby took his parents to Cracker Barrel and brought me home dinner. I looked in the bag and found a salad and a small container of chicken/dressing. Yum. Thank you Lord. I figured the dressing was something one of them didn’t eat, didn’t want to waste and brought home for me. An hour after I polished it off, my mother-in-law called, looking for the dressing she was saving for the next day. Um. That was yours? Sorry. I ate it. Yes, all of it. Oh, you ordered it special because you were craving dressing? Hmm. Belch. Good choice. It was mighty tasty. Sorry. Really, I am.