Me: “What’s happening in Niger?”
Ismael: “…”
Me: “Did they find the president? Who is in charge? The military or the president?”
Ismael: “…”
a few minutes later….
Ismael: “Does your mom eat rabbit?”
What.the.hell?
“You didn’t put milk in the eggs.”
Whaaaaa? My husband cooks an African sauce by boiling tomatoes, peas, and chicken in oil. He blew up an egg in the microwave. He has made hotdogs by boiling them in oil. He will grill and eat beef HEART. He pours the hottest pepper and sauce possible over everything I put in front of him and rarely declares my cooking good or bad.
This morning I made him eggs with seasoned salt, garlic powder, black pepper, and feta cheese. I did not, however, put milk in them when I whipped them up. An oversight that I didn’t think made one bit of difference.
How the hell did he know?
Happy Valentine’s Day!
I have the most boring dreams. I wake up from dreams about grading papers, kids at school, my family, etc. They typically bore Lorie to death because hers often involve technicolor interactions with friends, celebrities and I would not be surprised if somtimes clowns were involved.
Things have picked up in the dream department lately.
Last night, I had a very involved, elaborate dream about how my car was stolen from a parking lot. I’m assuming it was a Wal-Mart. In some long drawn out only possible in a dream process I found myself investigating the theft myself. I guess the police weren’t showing my Taurus the love. Anyway, I was in the security office at the store scanning video tapes, because they just let anybody do that you know. The tapes showed a blue pickup truck pull up and a blonde woman with a teen jumped out and walked straight to my car. The kid hotwired it and they both drove off.
The blonde? Was Brittany Murphy.
Apparently she is alive and well and stealing cars in Wal Mart parking lots?
