It’s a doggone aggravating world. I’m telling you, there are days I yearn for the woods so bad, I find myself packing a ham and walking toward them by about 11 a.m. I have to lie to my family and tell them I was just kidding, but they know that when I have a ham packed, I’m serious about holing up somewhere.
I rant and rave sometimes, just to make myself laugh. Ain’t it sad?
Anyway, I’ve yet to have a rant without a laugh, and it’s usually because of George. He listens patiently while I scream about hoping people suffer from a horrific case of herptafluffalupugus in their nasal cavities, and stomp around grumbling about no one ever listening to me. Then he makes me laugh.
After a particularly difficult phone conversation, I did my stomp/grump thing, and George, God love his patient soul, provided me a solution to solving further difficult conversations with this person.
“Babe, next time you talk to her, just call her a different name every time you refer to her.”
He mimics picking up a phone.
George’s girl voice (which is mildly disturbing in itself) : “Hello, this is Melanie, how can I help you today?”
