Moose in the Kitchen

Your thoughts for my brother were much appreciated. Thank you. Now may be the time to mention that I pushed him into the sharp edge of the heater when we were kids. My punishment was watching him get his head stitched up in the emergency room. Parents of siblings, take heart! Even if your offspring grievously injure each other when young, there’s a reasonable chance one will express concern for the other in times of danger rather than yelling for his or her immediate and violent death, as could previously be expected.

That said, I’m less concerned today. Not reading the news this morning has fortified my spirits and allowed my concern to make way for more pressing matters, like the state of my potted plants. Out of sight, out of mind. I would make a crappy soldier’s wife.

I might also make a crappy parent. My mother sent me a soothing email yesterday, one that can be generally paraphrased in “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine.” If I were a mother responding to my daughter, my response would have been, “He’s going to die! I’m going to die! We’re all going to die! THEN WHERE WILL WE BE? DEAD, THAT’S WHERE!” This parenting style (label: hysterical) is guaranteed to send children straight into the comforting arms of very expensive therapists. After which they’ll be broke and on the street after paying for all this expensive therapy. I, of course, won’t be able to help my hypothetical children with their hypothetical homelessness because I will be dead (see above).

The state really needs to require a license for prospective parents. Except, um, not yet, because I wouldn’t get one.

Speaking of broke and homeless, I recently made a vow of “Spend not, lest ye be really broke when ye’s already quitted job ceases and thee has no ducats.” Actually, it was more a “Christ! Stop buying so many $6 bowls of soup – and don’t even think about those red heels because you’ll feel really stupid when you come to your senses and have to email the nice customer service lady and ask her to cancel your order because you’re broke.” Would you like to hear the result of my newly-minted vow? Of course you would, because you hear the sweet whooshing sound of an oncoming train wreck. In my world, vow to spend nothing = spending over $500 in two days. George Bush praises my fiscal responsibility and implores me to become a Republican immediately.

Most of that large pile of cash was spent on a plane ticket to BlogHer, which completes my planning for this blessed, boozy event. Are you going? Do you need a roommate for Saturday night? If so, please speak up. My roommate is leaving a little early and I need the extra cash for booze and red shoes.