BROWN

Oh my holy cow, I just got the happiest stuff in the mail! There is nothing so delightful as forgetting that you've ordered something and then having it arrive in a BIG, GIANT BROWN BOX, when you have no recollection of giving out your Visa number! I should be really concerned about that. But it's all about priorities, people. And for ME, delight and excite FAR outweigh responsible and financially competent. THAT is why Heavenly Father created BIG, GIANT BROWN BOXES.

For ME!

And Froiline Maria... "Brown paper packages, tied up with string...these are a few of my favorite things..." SING IT WITH ME, PEOPLE!

Now I know that I've been known to "dis" brown, but in this case, I make an exception. Rules, like noses and arms, were made to be broken. And speaking of broken, husband accidentally busted three, count them, THREE milk bottles today. On the kitchen floor. At wee hours AM, when I was trying to remain a slumbering princess.

The profanity from his lips was as free flowing as the milk from the bottles. Which brings us to another subject~should a wife enter the special "circle of Hell" that is created when such accidents occur? Or should she use the brain that God gave her to stay the stink away? After doing just that (entering,) it is safe to say that this is NOT a requirement for an eternal marriage. If it were, there would have been a mention of it in the ceremony. And yes, it IS that serious.

Also, whoever said those immortal words, "No use crying over it" was an idiot. They didn't find seven cupboards stuck closed later that day. They didn't find splatters on their ceiling and light fixtures three rooms removed, either. And they won't be smelling fermented, coagulating dairy for the next several weeks until they find the source. Stupid immortal word speakers.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. I entered the fray, mistakenly thinking it was my duty. But then, Potty mouth turned on me and started hurling obscenities like ice balls in a friendly snowball fight. Taken aback, I beat a hasty retreat. I serpentined through the family room and nearly made a clean getaway, but wasn't quite quick enough~ still had a few thwak and splatter the back of my head. Nice.

Which leads us back to our original subject~big, brown boxes. It's what his face should be covered with for the next several days so that I can thump his stupid box head every time I walk past him without actually causing harm~or any tell-tale marks of said domestic abuse.

Bless his heart.