Monday, February 14, 2011

To Whom It May Concern

It has recently been brought to my attention that Miss Proper no longer wishes to be called Miss Proper.  I asked her if she would prefer if I called her Trixie, Trina, or Bunny.  She didn't laugh.  Menstrual Queen brought a look of panic.  Cute Boy Stalker is out, too...  And so, we shall be on the lookout for a more suitable moniker for her.  Suggestions welcomed, even encouraged.  I. Got. Nothin'.  Zip. Zero. Zilch.  It was hard enough coming up with her first pseudonym.  It guess I could just call her Number One.

In other news, in "celebrating us,"

(yak...  I'm not much for the day of love anyway, but did Hallmark really have to do that to us?  Seriously?  Celebrate the people you love when you want to not on the day the peer pressure is on.  "Honey, I bought you a card and gift because I'm supposed to..."  The romance.)

Out of respect for the brainwashed, romantics, friends-whose-feelings-I-don't-want-to-hurt, Erm...  In an attempt to personally jumpstart the failing U.S. economy, I treated myself to new heels,

new boots,

a glamorous new nightie, and the fixins for sour cherry martinis.  I made up the recipe by myself, and it tasted like a cherry lollipop.

And, oh yes, Mr. Incredible took me out for a sushi lunch.  The sashimi was like buttah.  He also made cajun pasta for dinner because the children love it.  Plus, there were the chocolate-covered strawberries that we both enjoyed. 

And, apparently, I feel I must do serious penance for some sin I have committed, as I actually spent money on a Justin Bieber disc for RNR.  It was what she really wanted for her heart day giftie, so I caved.  Hearing "It's like baby, baby, baby oh..." at 6:30AM does not spell good morning in my world.  Then, in a moment of complete insanity, I also promised RNR and Bonus I would take them to see the new Justin Bieber movie.  Miss Proper said she was out, but I told her that if I had to go, she would accompany me to hell.  Was that wrong of me?  It will probably be interesting.  Or two hours of my life that I can never get back.  I'll let you know. 

1 comment:

  1. Your second grader is SO much closer to tween than mine...must come from having an older sybling.