"I found some of the old Christmas stockings you kids had...you remember those flat felt ones?"
JMM (my mom) visited us last week, or at least came to see Andra's Christmas decorations.
I have a confession to make. I'm a hairy person. This dreadful situation was particularly upsetting for me as a junior high school girl. Because I was (and still am) white as a sheet, hair really stood out on me, especially my natural chocolate brown color back then. Paper white legs plus inch-long blackish hairs equalled SCARY BOY REPELLANT.
MTM has been a little under the weather the past couple of days. Nothing serious. And, he's a good patient. Almost chipper. Never makes ridiculous, needy requests. Doesn't moan and act pathetic, wallowing in his favorite chair like his world has ended. He actually smiles when I walk into the room.
What's weird about his behavior is this: I don't understand why he isn't taking the opportunity to slam me with a big, honking dose of payback.
Do you have a phobia? One of those debilitating things that, when thrust into a group, can lead to mortifying consequences if the phobia is triggered? Maybe you tell yourself it's silly, even though your reactions are agonizing and severe.
Well, I'm afraid of the dark. I mean, THE DARK, not nighttime or a murky room. The suffocating brand of darkness when THERE IS NO LIGHT paralyzes me. Consuming, enveloping, blinding darkness. It makes my hands humid, my heart throb, my lungs constrict.
It makes writing a blog a real strain.
So Andra wants to ask,
That you take on the task,
Of using her pain to entertain.
While she tries to fend off her sickness,
A little challenge to your mental quickness.
So today is the time,
To work on a rhyme,
And show off your talent at limerick-ness.
The headache cure that she’s after,
Is a gentle but firm burst of laughter,
So contribute your best stanza,
To this rhyming extravaganza.
And she’ll be back tomorrow and thereafter.