Oh look, yet another month has gone by without me rambling into the blog. Dangit blog, you were suppposed to write yourself and I was suppposed to be drinking wine and gracefully
raising not killing children. So in the month’s past, I have managed to finally get the main floor of the house clean, mostly because we hosted my second somewhat flopped Pampered Chef Party. I can’t help it, the idea of somebody cooking for me keeps luring me in. Especially when so far I had a show with 4 attendees and yesterday’s record of 1. Guess what that means? This chick gets awesome leftover I didn’t hafta slaveover myself in the first place.
But the somebody else cooks era of my love affair with Pampered Chef is about to come to a fully committed relationship. That’s right, I’ve been swindled into selling cookware. I guess in a round a bout way it could be worse. I could be selling Tupperware, in which nobody really knows if when you ask about a tupperware party if their talking storage containers for the kitchen, or the type of tuppperware thaat comes with batteries that you hope and pray the kids never find. For the 2 readers who didn’t know this about me, I’ve done the consultant ropes before, with Mary Kay. Seems I keep coming back to these sort of things throughout my life, must be alll the sparkly pretty incentive stuff they pitch at me.
So on to that awkward moment. In true veteran fashion, any story worth telling starts with something to the effect of “So there I was.” And the military/ family members who just read that, also completed it in their head with something very derogatory and or just plain gross. IF you didn’t go there in your head A) what are you doing here again? And B) go ahead fill in the blank “so there I was” with the worst thing you can think of, trust me it’s fun!
So there I was, bottle of trapped moscato looking for a way out and not finding the $$^%#%#%@*(&^%^**%^$ cork screw. I looked in all three places in the misc drawer I usually keep it in, looked in the baby bottle drawer, under the misc drawer in the cabinet, all the while loosing my ever loving mind. Don’t you fools see this poor wine is trapped in a bottle and I need to free it now!! And then as I am cursing and looking around, the 4 year old captor here asks me what I’m looking for. “The twisty thingy to open mommy’s wine bottles.” 4Year old pauses a minute, both of us looking in the misc drawer, when he reaches in calmly and hands me the wine opener. Good kid! I have trained you well! Hopefully your future wife someday realizes this brainwashing was for her, really!