PAC MAN FEVER

So what the junk? I had to have my wee little size zero (yes, I said zero, like that should even register on the number chart) sister figure out for me how to access my own blog. Whatever. I never professed to be brilliant with technology. In fact, I tend to "pac-man" my way through everything cyber and space. Accidental? I think not, she said with raised eyebrow.

And how does one pac-man? It's an inside joke between Bitty Boo (size zero sis) and me. One day, I made my own invitations for some shin-dig and feeling confident, showed them to BB. She looked at the invites...looked at me...and snot flew out of her nose as she tried to stifle a riotous snort. "What. Is. This?" She queried. "This is my invitations. What?" "Lis, they look like a pac-man ghost. You can't give these out. I can't let you. You're my sister and sisters don't let sisters drive drunk on the computer. Here. Move." And with that command, she shoved me over and out of the office chair, sat down to the computer and produced a masterpiece. And I knew right then and there exactly why my husband did such a lousy job on the dishes, the vacuuming, the sweeping, the laundry, etc. Because he knew I'd take one look at his pac-man effort and command him to "move" and he could walk away--all innocent and wide eyed, as if it had been his best effort, but just wasn't enough. Brilliant.

So Bitty Boo fixed my wide-eyed effort just now and you can all thank me later, as you won't be forced to relive the 80's through arcade style blogging.

I look forward to our chats, dear reader. And I say reader not to mimic Charlotte Bronte, so much as to refer to the one "fur sure" follower I know of. Bitty Boo. But she's teeny, so she only counts for half.