Happy Valentines Day to everyone. Whether you are single or married or engaged or stalking a new love or wishing to be unattached and you are unable to creatively break it off with some persistent soul, there is some source of love in your life. Wish a Happy Valentine’s Day to someone like it’s their birthday and give the world a goofy grin. You can’t ever go wrong with a goofy grin, though it is a tad embarrassing as it’s happening.
I got an email response last night to the craigslist ad I had placed to sell a solid wood armoire. The response was as follows:
Wow. Why so angry? Didn’t like the price? At least try to talk me down before you start name calling. I had to look ‘magnates’ up. Happy Valentines Day, oh slave to misery.
Take a gander at my new menu and keep it in mind when you need help of any kind. Ask the Informinator now exists as a service to you, the reader. I’ll try to set up a better comments system, but for now, leave your letter in a comment and she’ll answer. The really cool thing about this is that I didn’t even ask her permission first. I’m just forcing it on her. As Spider-Man says: “With great knowledge comes great power.” She pretty much has to answer us. It is her calling.
Recently we were reminiscing over the preschool carpool that took place when MamasBoy was just 4. What a quirky group of people that was. I found this, buried in a file:
Yesterday I picked up two extra kids from preschool. Everyone had a paper trail as we made our way to the car. Clumsyfeet was carrying a bear that was chickenpoxed up with tissue paper decor. Truthfully it looked like that bear had lost an ugly fight. At the beginning of our journey it had 2 eyes and a mouth. Halfway to the car, his sister said, “Hey, did you lose your eyeball?” To this, Clumsyfeet said, “No.” But then he looked at me dubiously and said, “Did I lose my eyeball, Miss Missy?” The whole conversation was kind of ridiculous. “Don’t you think you would know it if you lost your eyeball?” I asked him. And at that, I saw no point in further discussion. But as it turns out, his sister was the smart one. Bear had lost an eye. In the parking lot. I gave it one reasonable glance, just to look good, and then told Clumsyfeet that there are good surgeons and glass eyes for times such as these.
By the time I got all 5 yakkety-yaks into the van and all Bears and Paintings loaded in the trunk and all plastic runaway eyeballs searched for, we weren’t looking terribly organized anymore. But I was gripping securely to a shred of dignity as I backed out of my parking space. About this time my eyes wandered down to my left pants leg, where the longest, shiniest, greenest, puffy-paint-textured trail of snot that I have ever seen was lining my pants–up one side and down another. Oh. Now, that’s awesome. No wonder I don’t have any friends.
And on the way home from all of that, Mamasboy looks at me very seriously and says, “Mama, do you know why I don’t like bananas?”
Well, I actually hadn’t been aware that he had changed his stance on bananas, but that seemed to be a ship already sailed, so I just went with, “Why, Boy?”
His answer: Because I don’t like the color yellow and because they don’t taste good.” That pretty much settled the matter.