As I have to sneak onto a computer, between jobs at Stately Wayne Manor. Soon I will have to move the dining room furniture . . . again. Luckily, my mother vacuums VERY thoroughly so I have some time.
My parents are very much like a republican version of the Osbournes (I know I have brought this up before) and there is much swearing and the yelling of "Norma" loudly, instead of "Sharon". My mother does the same routine of alternating between ignoring her husband and kind of gentle patronizing that Sharon does to Ozzy. (by the way, they both read this) And amazingly, people look at us pretty much the same way in public, even though my parents are in Nautica wear instead of black and tattoos.
My father informs me that I have not "captured" the amusing and interesting quality of the pickle conversation. Something about the "spirit" of the conversation . . . or the pickles . . . or Walmart carrying the pickles, or something. Sorry I missed the mark. I'm sure you all wanted to be here, in person, to experience the pickle conversation firsthand. Perhaps my father should start blogging, so he could share these thoughts with the world firsthand. Don't get him started on the Oldsmobile minivan . . . they just should have started over if they wanted those specs.
The vacuuming has stopped. Have to go move furniture.
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2 comments:
Maybe you should change the name to "crazy Wayne Manor"...as no one except our family would care about how many different kinds of Heinz pickles are carried by the different Wal-Mart's in the area.
Pickles, Peanutbutter, Oil, Candy, Cheap Steaks...you name it - this "tribe" can tell you which store to find it in.
Just wait until you experience real estate. We are pretty good at that too, and as always, shop the scratch and dent (but not too scratched or dented!)
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