Now Playing: Alan Jackson - Remember When (what a precious song)
I'm eating my last 2 points allowable as I type. Nothing says "I'm a compulsive overeater" than wolfing down a snack-size bag of BBQ chips (which I hate) and a Special K bar simply because I was tired and frustrated at the kids and now I feel bad about it. I need a meeting or something...geez.
We went to the Fair tonight again. This time the blessed animals were there, much to my chagrin. Of course, what was I to expect, it is the Fair after all. Walking through the oh-so-aromatic Swine, Sheep and Dairy exhibits makes me ever so glad that my children are too young for that crap and have no desire to do it anyway. They could've done bucket or bottle calves this year, but I just flat-out refused the one time it was mentioned. Mainly because who do you think would end up feeding the sucker? Good ol' Momma, that's who. Well, this momma has better things to do, like blog, for instance.
I wore capris and flip flops to the Fair. Who has officially become a city-girl wuss???? I used to get all dressed up in my tight-fittin' Rockies and boots, complete with big ol' belt buckle to walk around that hot-ass place. (That was a hundred pounds and what seems like 4 lifetimes ago, too) Usually the temps are over 100 during the Fair. This year it was only a measly 90. Freakin' cold snap, I'm tellin' ya. But anyway, back to the first thought in this paragraph, the flip flops and capris. I now have the oogiest feeling feet in the universe! The kids kept kicking the shavings they line the pens with up onto my feet, I stepped in God knows how much poo-diddle from various breeds and species, it was dusty and in the Dairy barn they had water fans blowing which makes your entire body just damp enough to attract every particle of dust in the area. Not to mention what it does to naturally curly hair. I have this insane fear that I am going to run into an ex boyfriend and look all damp and curly, chasing my 3 snow-cone syrup covered children around in my damn flip flops. I mean, when I see an ex boyfriend I at least want to look a little less like the white trash than I really am...who wouldn't? Of course, I always see one particular ex at WalMart while I'm yelling at the kids, swatting rear-ends, threatening to take away birthdays for the rest of their lives and he just laaaaaaaaaughs. Wonder why he's an ex...hmmm let's ponder that one awhile. Nah, let's not. And in the immortal words of Forrest Gump:"And that's all I have to say about that."
Man, I started out talking about yucky feeling feet and digressed to an ex-boyfriend.
I need more BBQ chips. Bleh, no I don't. Darn. We're out anyway. :P