Thursday, September 1, 2011
Harpy 50th, Mother Effingby!
Photo by SanFranAnnie @ Flicker
And the hores do mone, so says I. Coming out from Carrabba's after picking the tiny bits of meat off'n the agrodolce ribs from the casuale menu, I felt slightly let down. I always do when we eat out. But only because I know I can make the damn thing better in my own kitchen for a fraction of the extortion.
The husband stopped and looked at the Lotus in the parking lot. He is never one for fancying anything above his pay grade and he's always been a rigid pragmatic, except when he's trying to be romantic....which makes him a pragmantic.
A gorgeous Persian Blue and built for a man with a midlife crisis named Heather, who, being blonde looks good with the Persian Blue exterior.
He began raving and had to look at the thing. And he wanted us all to see it, too. It was a ridiculous-looking machine. Like something out of Pixar's Cars. Hardly a suitable midlife crisis for me.
I need electronic thingies and musical instruments to clutter up my house. Made of exotic, rare rosewood and ebony. If you can't send me an iPad with a mahogany frame, send me pictures of a classical guitar made with confiscated rare wood. I'll feel better. Oh hey, I feel a song coming on:
"Ebony and Ivory, merely having them gets you one to three, and the DoJ caps you at the knee. All for a tree!"
My husband is still 48, and I am now 50. I don't feel old, at least, not yet. But if he keeps raving about little blue sportscars, I might just start.