From May to about the end of September I refuse to wear shoes that interfere with the rays of the sun directly hitting my feet. My toes have a desperate need to feel free and unencumbered by pesky socks or any other footwear that could possibly be construed as " sensible ".
Which means that during the work week I am all about the strappy wedge, kitten heel....what have you.....
On the weekends....yep, barefoot. Unless I am going out in public. Being shoe-less in public....well, the last time I checked I would be last person that would be confused with Britney Spears.
I realize that I am quite fond of the anecdote.....but,
When The Mister and I lived in Indiana and worked for a supermarket chain ( which could be considered two more dirty little secrets...but really, I have certain portions of my life that I have blocked out. So it can't really be a secret if I can only recall but the vaguest bits of information from these times...) and the Siberian outpost store they sent me to was an education that I could have not received in an institution of higher learning. People took their kids into the supermarket barefoot. IN THE SUPERMARKET ! I should tell you that these were not cherub-cheeked infants in baby carriers...no, no...we're talking six, seven and eight year olds.
And then they'd take these same shoe-less kids INTO THE BATHROOM ! ICK !
At any rate, around the house and yard I am barefoot. And at the end of the day I wear the organic matter stuck to my feet like a badge of honor. A stray piece of mulch, blades of grass, those oval pointed pods that fall off the rhododendrons....all of it. I especially love my shiny, smooth, pink polished toenails peeking out from a cloud of dirt like some sort of Transsexual Pig Pen.
I always tend to my tootsies at the end of the day. I'm not sure why I am always surprised at just how disgusting my feet can get. The Mister has seen the byproduct of what I have scraped off my feet in the bottom of the shower and refers to it as " The Chopped Salad " - a phrase which is almost always accompanied by look on his face like you've just seen two of your neighbors dogs humping in your front yard.
You would be shocked to know, dear readers, that I am not the funny one within the confines of our house. It's true, you can ask anyone. The Mister is hi.lar.e.ous.
True story, he actually made me laugh so hard once I peed my pants. Not a lot, just a little drip.
But still, I think it qualifies.
So anyway, there is just one in a long list of my dirty little secrets.
Ok, as if we'd hadn't gone down this road yet.....onto " Other Things Of Questionable Taste ",
Jon Knight is still hot. Yep, I've hung onto this one for a long time. Man oh man, if I even get my hands on him......Hoooo Boy! I don't really care if he might bat for the other team. As one dear friend of mine so elegantly pointed out....." Who cares if he's nice to look at ? " True dat.
I have to say, I have a fantasy or two about Mr. Knight.....one involves a can of Duncan Hines dark chocolate frosting....the other ends with him washing my car.
I know what you're thinking Internet.....why not try out the Duncan Hines thing on The Mister ? Well, because I'm pretty sure Mr. Knight does, or pays someone to do, a through manscaping job and The Mister.....well, the thought of chocolate frosting matting his modestly trimmed chest hair ?? Then I'd just end up washing the sheets? Yeah....my fantasies never end with me standing over the washer. I don't think any woman's does.
Except maybe Martha Stewart. I can see her commanding some dirt-poor-but-good-looking recent illegal immigrant with a marginal understanding of the English language to massage her calves or take his time bending over the dishwasher or verbally abusing him with empty threats of deportation if he doesn't polish the silver candelabra just so, all the while telling him how pretty he is....how nice his tan is, etc ? Can you just see the headline on the Huffington Post...." Martha Stewart Sued For Sexual Harassment " Some ACLU pro-bono newbie would get the case and hold a press conference on the street in front of Martha's compound. You know, some fresh-faced 24 year old with an ill-fitting suit from Dress Barn, the ink not even dried on her law degree....
Prison may have humanized her a bit....but she's not to be trusted. Take note peeps....there is some skeevy, undercover shit going on with Ms. Stewart. Trust me. It's just a matter of time before shit goes down.
Hey, did any of you know that Martha's daughter has a show where she and her BFF sit and watch old 80's episodes of The Martha Show ala Mystery Science Theatre 3000 and just rip c.1986 Martha to shreds ?
Whoa..I just got way, way off track there.....
Speaking of those on my " Freebie List ", I beseech you ladies....PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE vote for George Clooney. I'm begging you.....we can't let this guy win. He is not hot. He's not. Reality check...he's only hot to 'tween girls because he is non-threatening. Because he looks like an amalgamation of every kid in HS who lived and breathed auto shop class. It's a fine line between looking come-hither and looking stoned. I think we all know on what side of the fence he's on...the side with all the other doob smokers standing behind the dumpster.
The sad thing is that this pathetic loser is probably making moolah hand over fist and is spending it all on skinny jeans, sushi, new Wii games and call girls, and yet my co-workers and I have to rally at the state house to keep from losing our jobs to budget cuts.
Ok, getting off my soapbox now......
The Mister is thinking about getting another tat. I won't go into it too in depth because he only speaks of this tat while under the influence of Jamesons or Bushmills. I'm never sure how serious he is. If he speaks of it sober, then I might blog about it again. Until then...we'll see if this just the whisky talking or if he's really serious. You know why God invented whisky, right ? To keep the Irish from ruling the world. hehe.
Oh hey, guess what ? I finally got that paper signed by Dr. Dumbass. It's amazing just how effective waving a handgun around can be.
Although, as always seems to happen with me, now that this issue has been put to rest ( or put through the fax machine as it were.. ) it seems I have an entirely new issue to contend with regarding the very same client. Without getting too graphic.....if my client's apartment at the assisted living facility were a Catholic Church it would be named one of the following;
St. John Of The Shit-Stained Toilet.
or
Our Lady Of The Perpetually Dirty Bathroom
or
The Holy Mystery Of The Lifesavers Wrappers On The Floor.
or
The Divine Crumbs of St. Lay-Z-Boy
and I have to say, I've had quite a few religious experiences in this apartment. Like the mystery of how I spend two hours cleaning and reorganizing her walk in closet and not two days later it is totally trashed. Or how it is I put sets of matching sheets in the closet and yet the sheets that end up on the bed are always mismatched. Or how it is that her one houseplant has been near death more than a dozen times, yet after watering on the third day it seems to rise again ?
I should also tell you that this client in her advancing age has become hard of hearing. So our conversation's usually go something like this.
Me: How was your day today ?
::::::Client ignores me::::::::::
Me ( again, only in a slightly louder tone ): How was your day today ?
Her ( puzzled look at me ): Huh ?
Me ( even louder ): I said, how was your day today ?
Her: What ?
Me ( almost yelling ): How. Was. Your. Day. Today ?????
Her: Oh..........waffles.
Me( heavy, exaggerated sigh ): No, I ASKED YOUR HOW YOUR DAY WAS TODAY ??
Her: I don't know what the hell you're saying - I fell on my head too many times. ( pats forehead )
Me ( turns the volume down on the TV ) I ASKED HOW. WAS. YOUR. DAY. TODAY ?
Her ( annoyed ): Wha ??
Me: YOUR DAY ? HOW WAS IT TODAY ????
Her: Why are you yelling at me ? ( taking an accusing tone ) You know, you've never taken me to see The Rockettes !
I know, hearing aids are on my To-Do list for her.
The Mister has to have part 2 of a root canal finished up tomorrow...so keep him and his puffy, festering, infected lip in your collective thoughts.
Night All !
XO
Bunny
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