Three Giftings and a Boo-Fellow

My husband went to Amsterdam and all I got was this lousy candy
bar. Maybe I'm lucky that's all he brought back from Amsterdam.
I am going to tell my students he's been there, and he will be their
hero. And I will bask in the glow that is due someone who lives
with someone who has been to Amsterdam.

That's where all my poor pitiful students say they're going to live
when they graduate. Let's work on the "graduate" part first, huh
kids? This is from 9th graders, even. What do they want me to
ask, "Oh, will you be moving to Amsterdam for the legal drugs,
or the legal prostitution? Or something kinkier than I want to
know about?" Where do they get this desire to go to Amsterdam?
Do their parents discuss it? What's up with that? I know I am
naive. It took me 4 years of hearing about it until I found out
that April 20 (4-20) is Stoner's Holiday. I've got to get more
hip with these cats' lingo.

Actually, my Hillbilly Husband went to Germany, but he had
some airport layovers in other cities. He said there are no
legal drugs or prostitution inside the airport. He also mentioned
something about the Red Door in Germany, but he didn't go.
That's his story and he's stickin' to it. And the candy bar? It
is milk chocolate & hazelnuts, made in Austria for Kraft
Foods Switzerland. And it is spectacular.

Oh, and if you think that box is still full of candy, think again.
I will buy some land that you have had your eye on for 15
years and sell it back to you at $4000 more than I paid for
it. So there. Wise up! I have had that box of candy for 6
days. I ain't no Olsen twin.

The cards are from my teaching buddy, Mabel. I am having
some surgery on Monday (that is not up for discussion) and
she is making a great effort to cheer me up. I think it is working.
The card with the cat says "If I had two dead mice, I'd give
you one." The bulldog-in-a-blond-wig-and-cheerleader uniform
says, "Cheer up. I'm rooting for you." What more could I ask
for than a friend who would give me a dead mouse?
Thanks, Mabel.

Last Thursday, I had to pick up #1 son from a sock-hop at
the elementary school. His costume was a striped prison suit.
The teachers loved it, since he is a good kid at school, and
this must have been ironic, though I never really understood
what "ironic" means. He was ready to leave when I got there,
having just vomited in the bathroom.

When we got home, it was dark. Our orange Halloween lights
were lit up by the hay-bale shrine to evil that HH built out front.
We pulled into the garage, and that dim overhead light came
on. I gave #1 the keys to run in the house and vomit some
more, hopefully in the bathroom. As I stepped out and turned
to open #2 son's door, I heard, "Hey!"

My heart almost shot out of my mouth. I say almost, because
I guess it is hooked to things like the aorta and inferior vena
cava and stuff to hold it in, or else somebody would have
been nailed with a hillbilly-heart projectile. I looked behind
the car, just inside the garage door, and there was a bald
creepy man in a painters' hat. I screamed a little bit, and
grabbed at my chest to keep my heart in.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I saw you drive in." It was our
neighbor, the Land-Stealer. He shaves his head, and kind
of has bug-eyes, and I wasn't expecting anybody to have
followed me down my 1/8 mile driveway, so I was scared.
He just wanted me to tell HH that he had all the papers
ready for the land he stole from us that we are buying back
at an outrageous profit for him. That's all.

HH came home from bowling and had a good laugh at me.
He didn't understand why that frightened me. This from a
man who squeals like a little girl just because he put his hand
in a pocketfull of hairless baby mice. Go figure!