Someone needs to find the PayPal address for my guardian angel ASAP, because she seriously needs a RAISE - or at the very least a grand donation.
I had no longer posted my thoughts about wallowing in my own crazy wallowness, when Sassy reared up on her hind legs and hit one OUT OF THE PARK! (And without a field hockey stick, no less.)
The screaming at me Sunday morning because I had the AUDACITY to look her in the eye and ask her what her plans were that day?
How dare I.
Haven’t I learned better after living with raging teenage estrogen for these many years? (Apparently not.) I was lulled into a trancelike state by her graduation exuberance and “hope for many gifts and money” strategy to think that she would ever consider raising her voice to me a week before said event.
Then, the screaming at me insisting that she WASN’T screaming? Well, that was an ingenious touch. Frankly, if I hadn’t seen it several thousand times in the last four years, I would have given her a standing ovation. Unfortunately, the force of her lungs basically knocked me on my *$$, therefore rendering me incapable of the standing “O”. By that point I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t think straight.
The laughter? I had strategically hidden her car keys after my morning coffee because I had a crazy inkling that a storm was a brewin’.
Call it mother’s intuition.
(Now, can anybody out there cross stitch? I’m thinking about a small sign that says, “Don’t let the door hit you in the a$ on your way out.” In red.)