Why would he be with you unless he has a small ? Three Days of Insults….


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Saturday Evening:

So, here I was at a wedding, without my exceptionally handsome husband, when a somewhat intoxicated “friend” at the table announces that my husband must have a “really small penis” because if not for that, he could have anyone. Meaning, in a round about way, that why else would he be with me unless he had a secret defect. Sigh

Monday Evening:

I am stepping off the podium where I was serving as a Town Supervisor when an elderly citizen stopped me to say “you look pretty big, are you pregnant again?”. I wasn’t. Sigh

Tuesday Evening:

I am at the very expensive and upscale gym on the Northshore, complaining to a fellow ETHS alum about the two earlier rude comments when she says ” I am sure you are average for your area”. Meaning that people from my zip code are all obese. Sigh

On Hunting….. (an exerpt from the Hunt Report)


Have you noticed that Fox Hunting is so much more daring than bungee jumping or sky diving? If one bungee jumps, the cord will either break and you will go splat, or it won’t and you will be fine. In sky diving you will either have a successful parachute landing or you will go splat. Both are fairly boring in that disaster will be predictable. Fox Hunting offers so much more! The endless variation in the ways that you could go splat! The horse could fall, you could fall, you could break an arm – or a neck or even the horse ! There are two parties involved, one of which does not speak at all and poops in public! Both can die, separately or simultaneously – who knows? Indeed who does know? No one, not
even the hounds, know where they are going to go, or at what speed. You ride on the larger parties back and communicate with it by using your legs and hands in a language you made up, while possibly at great speed, while possibly going over rough terrain and jumping obstacles! Or, alternately, you could just spontaneously
fall off in a corn field or get your eye poked out by a tree branch. What could possibly be more daring than something referred to as a blood sport? No one ever really knows if it is going to actually be a blood sport and if it is, then whose blood? Who knows? What excitement!

Christmas with Bing

Christmas requires Bing. My husband would disagree, but Bing Crosby is an integral part of getting my Christmas spirit started. This year the children thrilled to new Lego sets and then the entire family succumbed to a horrid flu that lasted well over a week. I do mean the ENTIRE family. Anyone who entered the house left with a viral doorprize. Sigh

Fever, chills, coughing. Repeat. Repeat for 4 days.  Cough up white cloudy chunks. Repeat for 5 more days. Sigh.

Vacation was quickly over and poof! Back to 2013….

Clutter IS a decorating style…

Clutter IS a decorating style. In fact, it is my favorite style. In my opinion, there are two types of people – those who like a lot of stuff surrounding them and those who freak out when there is a lot of stuff around. What makes me feel safe and snuggled makes others claustrophobic and panicked. I have friends in both camps. At least half of my friends would like to bring over a dumpster. The other half live in homes that look similar to mine.


We all joke about hoarding but hoarding is different. Hoarding involves saving and protecting actual garbage, dead animals and fecal matter. I am not there yet. There is nothing about garbage, dead animals or fecal matter that makes me feel snuggled and safe….

People You Know – Even When You Don’t

Watching ‘Open House’ this morning and the camera pans a turn of the last century, English Tudor. Spectacular. The next shot captures a Corgi trotting on a gravel drive. Hmmm, I may know this homeowner.  The next shot is of a metal house plaque on a stone drive post that reads “Woodbury Farm”. Yep. I was absolutely prepared for the following shot of the owner. Blonde, very thin, petite and WEARING A SLING! Naturally, the requisite shot of the warmbloods in a pasture was next. Could not stop laughing as the owner led us through the visual feast that was her home. Rarely does one see every stereotype checked in such rapid succession… 


My world has turned to dust. The grass has died, the blackberries are no longer producing and the Walnut trees are shedding nuts prematurely. The horses spend their days indoors under fans. I detest dry, hot weather. If I liked dry, hot weather I would live in a dry, hot region of the country. I also detest super moist, hot weather because there is usually a host of horrific insects who thrive in it……

Scenes From Saturday Night…..

Place: The Crocodile Lounge

Time: 1:30 am

Only person remotely interested in me: Frank the 27 year old Belizian/Hatian “Baby Daddy”/Union Electrician/Handy Man from Maine East

” I like older women, my Baby Momma is 32.  People might call you fat but you have a perfect ass. As a matter of fact, your ass is the minimum size I would consider. Black men know what to do with what you have. Every black man here can see what you have and you know that I know what to do with what you have.”

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