A Scofro, Gravy Shoes and the night at work

Katy and I have been doing some research for the upcoming Geography Fair. We decided to present Scotland this year because we have some heritage there.

‘some’ is what I thought. As it turns out we are completely Scottish, from the butterscotch chips in my pantry to the dreadful state of my hair these days. My hair started getting more and more curly with each subsequent child I birthed. I told Kirk that I was going to keep having babies 'til I had an afro. It was then that I realized that, being Scottish, I wouldn’t have an Afro, I’d have a Scofro.

When I got home from work tonight I told Kirk that, if I were to comb my hair out and take a brush to the unruly mass I’d look like Bozo on a bender. “Hey, boys and girls, wanna assess risk with me?”

Anyhoo, tonight was not without it’s highlights. I got to work with the new girl, who is, get this, named ThatCyndiGirl, too!! Same spelling and everything. I told her that I was going to drag her to tap class so we can work out a Me and My Shadow number. I think she’s game. (And her new nickname shall henceforth be “Cyndi: The Sequel”)

I ran to the place where we get dinner these days and promptly dumped about 4 gallons of mashed potatoes and 17 gallons of brown gravy on my ugly sandals. Yes, the ones that Kirk has despised for twelve years straight. I think he put out a hit on my sandals. He’s been giving them the stink-eye for years. Looking back on the event’s of the evening I now see all this foreshadowing. Kirk’s furtive glace around the room as I donned the horrid footwear, the man who loaded the food into the van at PlaceWhereWeGetDinnerTheseDays who was a little too nice about the whole thing and a little too insistent that HE load the trays.


Hmmm. The more I think about it, the more I think Kirk DID put a hit out on my shoes.

I have a t-shirt he has been trying to get rid of for years. "Don’t go into the laundry, Dear One, I’m comin’ for ya!!"