Happy Thursday, my lovely Goose Army! My wife is crazy. And by “crazy”, I mean absolutely hilarious, but also a little worrisome. And by “worrisome”, I mean that she does everything in her power to “out crazy” yours truly. And that’s a marathon, not a sprint.
Really troubling about all this is that her crazy hibernates. It lies in wait, watching me go off the rails, observing, taking notes, and then rears its ugly head like Regan from The Exorcist when everything seems calm and delightful. Its sole purpose is to show my crazy how things are done ’round here.
For example, it was a very pleasant, peaceful evening at Casa de Fatass. I was blogging, writing, doing what I do…and my iPhone whistled at me.
Side note: I loooooathe hearing my phone go off. It can literally make me growl in frustration if it happens more than twice in five minutes. Why do I ever take it off silent?
Anyhow, I opened my messages, and my lovely wife had sent me…this:
Now, let’s be clear. We are not making fun of the lady in the picture. Gon’ witchya curvy ass, honey! Work! But the thought of my wife thinking this is acceptable attire to wear when walking into a Panera for book club…it just let me know she’s gone ’round the bend and crazy’s in season.
LET THE MOTHERFUCKING GAMES BEGIN!!
And book club would surely disband forever.
Until next time…