My mom can't come to the blog right now. A few moments ago she lumbered out of the big girl sleigh bed (after dramatically throwing her arm across her forehead while bemoaning how "bereft of energy" she was, by the way) to head toward the kitchen for her morning coffee.
I decided to remain quietly under the covers so that whatever craziness the old lady has cooked up for the day might pass me by. Alas, it was not to be.
"MEATLOAF!" I heard her bellow. "WE NEED MEATLOAF!"
From what I gather, my stupid mo-ther has been more distracted than usual lately, so she figured that the only way to get one's bull by one's horns is to make a baked slab of ground meat the approximate size of a mini bus. My cousin Bosco thinks this is hilarious, especially since his nickname happens to BE meatloaf, but I find the entire exercise exhausting.
After a long confab with my Aunt Chrissy, I've come to accept the fact that whatever brain cells were in my mother's head have probably headed south for the winter. Apparently, I'm not the only one left to wonder what the hell this woman is thinking half the time, but fortunately for me, I know First Aid and am capable of caring for myself in a sufficient fashion.
So rather than doing laundry or cleaning the house or taking down the inside Christmas decorations (I know, horrified silence, right?), or heading up to the studio to once and for all put together a "Winter" stitching basket....we're making meatloaf.
I do hope that this finds your own little corner of the world a little less....disorganized, and that you're headed into the weekend armed with only that which is completely fabulous in every way. Until we meet again....I remain your loyal and devoted friend.
With love from your pal,