Sad State of Play

Pfunk has a birthday coming up (sort of) (June 24).  In the event you are in the market (or biologically obligated) to purchase a gift for him, I think this post will serve as shopping inspiration.

The boy LOVES to be in the kitchen.  As I was unpacking, this sponge was the only "toy" I felt was safe enough to play with in a new house, without any real supervision.  This was pre-easel and pre-markers.  I do have to say, the table looks very shiny, but I do hope this picture is not some twisted form of foreshadowing.

Every boys favorite "outside" toy- 15 feet of white cable cord.

That's a swiffer.  In our yet to be paved- thank you snowy winter- driveway.  He runs with it, as if he actually is swiffering, from the garage to the top of the driveway and back.  He squeals with delight as he does this.  It may sound cute, but really, it's quite pathetic.

I need to draw your attention to the jacket as well.  It is large I know, but it was $16 and it's reversible(!). It's also a 3T and will likely fit him until he is 12.

My neighbors probably sit in their houses sipping their coffee as they watch my son "play" with his "toys".  Surely they notice Abby sitting, quivering- for no reason other than we are not safely in the house- and tethered to the porch and think, "Wow.  I wonder if this neighborhood is taking part in some sort of outreach program.  There goes our property value."

Zesty Pickle

Confession: I have one of those faces, and apparently one of those voices.

The other day I called Verizon to cancel my account with them. Actually I was calling to make sure the account had been cancelled and that I would not be charged for a service I no longer had. I hate when I have to do other people's jobs for them.

While the Verzion lady was waiting for her computer to reboot from a recent crash, (surprised? me either) she said, "Well, while we wait for this to do its thing, I will just tell you something woman to woman..."

I don't want to hear what you have to tell me. I was at her mercy. And she knew it. All I could do was listen and give the occasional obligatory "uh-huh."

She began be telling me not to answer the door for people I don't know. I know I may sound young on the phone, but I'm not home sick from 5th grade. What's next? Are you going to tell me that if a stranger calls I should say my mom is in the shower?

Verizon lady told me an awful tale about how she was home from work last Monday and -long story- short a guy broke in her back door window. She called the cops and they caught the guy.

I said, "Wow, sounds like you should get some sort of alarm system."

She said, "Yeeeeaaaa. It's my childhood home. People know I live alone. So..."

Huh? So does that mean you are not going to get an alarm? Does anyone else fail to see the connection between not getting an alarm and living in your childhood home?
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These things happen to me all the time. Strangers think I work in whatever store I happen to be in at the time. They think I have answers to their annoyingly ridiculous questions. They think I WANT to answer their annoyingly ridiculous questions.

Recently I was in a Target that had a grocery section. I was not in the grocery section. I could see the grocery section if I turned my head 45 degrees to the right, but I was a good 8 aisles away. I did not have ANY grocery items in my cart. This man walks over to me and says, "Do you know where they keep the cake mix?"

"Um. I think the grocery section is over there. Check the bakables aisle."

He nods and heads in the grocery direction.

As he approaches the bakables, he turns toward me and yells-YELLS- "HEY! YOU WERE RIGHT! THANKS!"
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When I was pregnant I was in the condiment aisle in front of the pickles (of course) at Safeway. It should be noted I was also sort of in front of the ketchup since they are next to each other. I could have just as likely been buying ketchup, pickles or checking the expiration date on my Edy's coupon.

An older man picked up a very large jar of pickles, labeled as "Zesty" and "Bold". He asked me. Me. Not talking, not looking at anyone, not even really looking at the pickles- me. Again, it should be noted I was not wearing anything resembling a name tag or a Safeway uniform.

"Do you think these will be spicy?" I told him probably. "Huh." He said as he put the large jar in his basket.
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I guess it is inherited. A man once asked my mom what raw broccoli was and how to cook it.

True story.