Wednesday, April 17, 2013

about my next husband

5 firemen stood in my airspace today.  I made sure to nose-breathe.  I still had asparagus on my breath from my hastily abandoned dinner.

5 firemen stood in my kitchen today.  The scent of crock-pot beans lingered in the air.  I marveled at all their tools.  Then I noticed all the medical equipment they brought in.  wink.

5 firemen stood next to me today.  Several times I slowly shut my eyes while I inhaled their musky "hey-baby-i-just-put-out-a-fire-and-saved-a-cat" scent.  I think I heard Marvin Gaye in the background.

5 firemen stood next to Clint today.  But Clint's "i-have-food-lodged-in-my-throat-why-does-jaylee-look-like-she's-in-a-febreeze-commercial?" choking noise managed to ruin the moment.

Oh yeah.  Clint choked on dinner tonight.  Chicken.

Not to worry.  He was never in any real danger.  His midget esophagus hasn't grown since he was 5 (my expert opinion), and he's had a few similar episodes in the past.  This one was the worst and he endured about 30 minutes of severely constricted breathing.  While the 5 fireman stared at Clint, trying to assess their course of action, I stared at the 5 fireman.

As soon as the decision was made to transport him to the hospital, Clint's body started working again.  Darn.  No EMTs.  Just as well.  They'd have been women with my luck.

Fortunately, Clint's still with us.

But the firemen aren't.

Firemen work the same shift every week, right?  'Cuz I really liked the older chap with the sandy blonde hair.

Did I just pour gasoline all over my house and light a match?  How clumsy.


Sorry to offend those with small esophagi, those who have burned their house down, and midgets.  If you happen to know any firemen, more specifically the firemen that were at my house today, or any that are in the above picture, please give them my thanks.  And my phone number.

Monday, April 15, 2013

about REAL food

Today I committed a pho paw, a fow pa, and a fo paa.  So many ways to misspell it phonetically.

I was in line at Joe's REAL bbq.  You know, the place that serves REEEAAALLL bbq, rather than the made in China bbq that uses pork-food and bbq sauce substitute.

But I digest.

In line, next to the REAL bbq cashier, were desserts that looked REAL fake.  Plastic-fake.

So I asked her if they were real.  Except I didn't ask her if they were real.  Maybe I thought to ask her if they were real?  Except I didn't even think to ask her.  I just stuck my finger down through the top of the lemon cake.

I'm super mature - said no one ever.

The REAL cashier looked at the newly formed sinkhole, then at me, then back at the sinkhole.

I offered to purchase the cake.  I did...'nt.

We locked eyes for 3.256 seconds.  Then she smiled and said "don't worry about it.  it happens all the time."

She was REAL understanding.

(this photo is irrelevant except that every time I come across it, I want to pull Clint by the shorthairs and quietly whisper in his ear that I will raise fifty shades of hades if he ever again leaves the nutcase in the blue shirt by himself on the edge of a precipice)