So What? You're a Stupidhead Too!
Thanks a lot, Fluffy. This explains so much:
My inner child is six years old!
Look what I can do! I can walk, I can run, I can
read! I like to do stuff, and there's a whole
big world out there to do it in. Just so long
as I can take my blankie and my Mommy and my
three best friends with me, of course.!
How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla
It's probably also why I do stuff like this:
Our friend Floyd, now of AZ but formerly local, is an infamous prankster. I am more hesitant about wreaking havoc and innuendo--being uptight--but sometimes go on a rampage after being needled one too many times. Floyd has a big ol' backlog waiting for him now that he's exited our area, but I managed to get in one doozy before he left.
It was April Fool's day, 1999. Iz was three months old. I has reached that semi-competent, totally ambulatory, mostly isolated, and completely fucking bored phase of new stay-at-home motherhood, and decided that this would be a safe day to get me some payback.
So I showed up at Floyd's work toting Iz. It was a relatively new job for him, and I hadn't visited yet--the front office staffers didn't know me. I put on my best woeful face, and asked for Floyd. The admin asked for a name, and I gave her mine. She asked me if I had a message, and I got all evasive, mumbling about how I'd met him at a work party about a year ago and really needed to talk to him, and had had a hard time tracking him down since he'd changed jobs.
It was a small company--everyone knew everyone else and she certainly knew who Floyd was. Watching her try to digest all that delicious gossip-fodder was worth every bit of effort. She'd obviously completely forgotten what day it was.
"Just tell him I was here." I sighed, tearfully. "He knows how to reach me if he wants to." As if on cue, Iz started wailing. Shoulders bowed, I walked out the door...
...and skipped to the car. Ha!