Smart and Sassy yesterday and want to know why your answer wasn’t published today, it’s because we’ve got a million questions in the queue, and we’re answering them in the order in which we received them. We could answer every one of them right now, but that would preclude a life and cut into my valuable “What if I AM going blind?” worry time, and we simply cannot have THAT.
So be patient – it may take a while, but we’ll get to you!
* * *
So, the spud was recently asked out on a date with the boy she went to the Homecoming Dance last Fall. She told him yes, and negotiations began as to when exactly The Big Date would take place. In the meantime, he started referring to her as his girlfriend in his Xanga blog. (No, I’m not sharing the link. Do I look that dumb?) There ensued much discussion about what movie they wanted to see, and they decided
Van Helsing. Then ensued much more discussion about what time the movie was on – neither of them seemed to understand the concept of logging on to al.com and clicking on the “movie” link to find out the time – and what night they could go. They were going to go this past Saturday, but he had some church function to attend, so they decided on Friday instead.
Friday, the spud came home and said “We’re not going on our date tonight. His parents have a group-date policy.” That is, he couldn’t go out on a date unless there was a whole group of people going. Alllllllrighty, then.
“Did he not know his parents had this policy before he asked you out?” I asked.
She shrugged and rolled her eyes at me for asking such a stupid question, and then went upstairs to IM with him some more.
Saturday I was out in the back yard sweeping some grass off the patio, when she came to the door.
“The date isn’t going to happen,” she said, eyes red as if she’d been crying.
“How come?” I asked.
Well, well, WELL. It appears that his parents told him that he couldn’t have a girlfriend who isn’t Christian (ie, attend church regularly) and that he had a choice of “saving” her or breaking up with her.
And here’s where I’m really proud of her. She said to him “Then I guess you’d better break up with me.”
You know what? Fuck that. “Save” her? Maybe before they start worrying about the immortal soul of a child they’ve never met, they should be a little more concerned that their own child seems to have no grasp of how to use punctuation.
Argh. First the child is rejected by a boy’s parents because she’s white, and then by another set entirely because she doesn’t attend church. She’s going to get a complex. What fucking century are we living in, again?
I guess this is what we get for living in the Bible Belt, isn’t it?
* * *
It’s not a good time, medically speaking, to be part of the And3rson family. Not only do I have it goin’ on with the potential eye, liver, and skin cancer (Fred: “At least it’s not ass cancer!” Me: “Oh, I’m sure I have that TOO!”), but Miz Poo’s lip, due to constant grooming (which in turn was due to pretty nasty dandruff), had puffed up to twice it’s usual size. Fred took her to the vet Monday. The vet gave her a steroid shot, prescribed an antibiotic for her lip (he thought it might be infected), and gave Fred a bottle of oil to help out with the dandruff. After two days, the dandruff is gone. Also, the lip is back to normal size, and Miz Poo is back to her grouchy self. Yay!
* * *
Attention, Marty and Erin followers: They’re going to be on Dr. Phil not only tomorrow, but also Friday! Will Marty snap and bury Erin in the backyard along with the thirty bodies already there? Tune in and see!!!
* * *
That’s a bird feeder she’s curled up in, by the way.
“What?”
“Mother, MUST I come kick your ass?”
]]>