Smilin' In The 'Hood

I guess y'all could tell from my previous post I don't much care for hospitals.  Beats me as to why soap operas feel the need to base their story lines on them. Personally I do not find all that green paint and stainless steel sexy in the least.  I had days to look, but couldn't find one thing to fan the flames of desire...unless you count my desire to get the heck outta Dodge.

 For the record, I didn't have a single doctor, much less an intern, try to talk me outta my non-slip socks or even think of enticing me into joining him in the supply closet.  Maybe my "come hither" look was a bit too cock-eyed for their liking or maybe it was my peek-a-boo gown that scarred scared them.  That's okay y'all 'cause I didn't care much for their...ahem...bedside manner either.  Besides, their hands were always cold and Eau de pHisoHex has never been my favorite manly scent.  I'm more of a Lava and Old Spice gal myself!

The only good thing I found in being incarcerated for a week was the time it gave me to think.  A girl can only sleep so much you know...even on pain meds.

(Did I mention I only got decaf coffee in the mornings?  Now I ask y'all...how's a girl to get in the mood for amour du jour without caffeine? Impossible to get the ol' blood roiling when there's no Starbucks flowing in the veins!)

I've only been in the hospital for any length of time 3 times in my life.  Twice when becoming a mother and once when having my remaining chance for further motherhood removed.

SQUIRREL ALERT!!!

Be glad I'm not doing a rant post on the cost of medical care nowadays.  I'm pretty sure my three previous stays added together wouldn't be as much as a hospital stay is now.  I wish I'd taken a photo of the sign in my room that read "We strive for very good care".  Really?  Whatever happened to excellent care? Also, what the heck is going on and why is the push for medical devices now the big deal?  It's got me wondering how the heck folks survived anything 15 years ago! But like I said...I'm not going to get on a soapbox about it...for now!  I'll just say between the insurance companies and medical product lobbyists tying the caregivers hands...well...you know.

   Meanwhile back at the ranch...



(Hard to believe that in two short days after this photo was taken Easter I would be sick as a dog!)



like I was saying before I so rudely interrupted myself, becoming a mother was two of my stays.

I was young...very young...when I had the oldest melonhead.  When I had him, I had never changed a diaper, much less even held a baby.  I thought I didn't even like children.

(Factoid: His birthday was earlier this month.  Second factoid:  Both my of my children were delivered at 10 months! Jenn to the day.)

Lying in my bed at Baylor, I remembered the first time I was left alone with him.  Me who hadn't ever held a baby...remember?  Was I scared you ask?

You betcha.  Pea green.

I sat there in a chair, him in my arms, scared as all get out to move...much less breathe...afraid I would wake him and not know what to do.  For two hours I just sat there staring at this tiny creature, my heart pounding in my ears, trying not to cry when out of the blue...he smiled.  Y'all know the smile I'm talking about.  The one the nurses call gas, but I think differently.  In my heart of hearts, I know those sweet, smirky smiles are the baby's response to angels whispering in its ear.  God knew I was terrified beyond belief and I truly believe it was His way of letting Joey reassure me, in the only way he could, it was gonna be okay and he knew I'd never hurt him, but love him with all my heart.

It was the same with the Bella Mama.  She was born green as grass due to MAS and had to stay in the NICU for a week.  My OB/GYN, God love him, finagled it to where I wasn't released until she was.  Again I was one scared mama, but for different reasons.  I had to scrub up and don hospital duds just to go in and see her.  The day I got to actually hold her?  I can't even describe the joy I felt as I smiled through the tears at the wonder of her and her resiliency.  Resiliency forged at her birth that would serve her well with the birth of Bella.  God always at work at the details...even at the beginning of life.

(For all you young mothers out there who are wondering if you can possibly love a second child as much as your first...you can and will.  Just when you get to thinking your heart couldn't possibly love any more...like the Grinch's, it grows 3 times with each child.  Trust me on this one.  It takes 3x's to hold all the love you feel for each and every baby and still it spills over!)

On the day we brought Jenn home, my little lucky charm was no longer the color of a four leaf clover, but was perfection in cream with strawberry hair.  My but that baby was teeny tiny at 5 pounds. So small everyone but me was scared to touch her...even her daddy.  Mother came and helped me the first week and even she was a little frightened of her so we made a deal.  She'd take care of Joey and I'd take care of Jenn.  Looking back and remembering, I know she got the short end of the stick, 'cause Oh Mylanta, he was quite the handful!

Which brings me 'round to my mother.



(Open that can Helen 'cause what's a picnic without pork and beans?)



My mother loved being in the hospital.  Raising three rambunctious kids couldn't have been a picnic.  For her, it was comparable to a trip to a spa.  No kids to deal with, all her meals served in bed.  No bathroom to clean.  Waited on hand and foot and the center of attention.  If we came to see her (which we did) fine, if not, why that was fine too.  With all the books she could read while reclining in a bed that adjusted to her whim, she was content.  What could be sweeter?

That was how she dealt with life.  She took any given situation that was thrown at her and made the best of it.  Even at the end, when finding the good seemed impossible...her heart and health deteriorating...she was still smiling.  When we said goodbye for the last time, that smile is what I remember making the unbearable bearable,.  That smile told us she knew there was a better world awaitin' and at the end of her life, she was happy with the knowledge she was loved and at peace with the life she had lived.

It's kinda like the oldest melonhead pointed out to me while I was whining lamenting my incarceration.  He reminded me of something I would tell them when they were growing up.

When life seems to cover you up in crap...start digging.  With that much crap heaped up, there's bound to be a pony in there somewhere.

Law, but I hate it when my words come back to bite me in the butt, but I listened and I started digging.

And by golly...there it was...my little ponies.



(A beautiful immigrant bridal trunk we just bought at an estate sale. Whaa...you think a little ol' thing like a leash and harness is gonna keep this ol' grey mare from a good sale? Think again y'all!)



I was given time to reflect and remember precious memories.  And if that wasn't enough, to date I've lost over 20 pounds...although this is not a diet plan I'd recommend to everyone.

But the time...oh yes...that I hope you are given and if not, take it anyway.  Steal it if you have to.  I won't tell.

I hope everyone reading this had the time yesterday to remember their own precious memories of motherhood and mothering.  Write them down, frame them, carry them in your heart forever.  These are the things that will sustain you when days are dark. 

Why else would God give us the ability to forget the pain of childbirth, but remember the joy of being a big part of someone's life and they ours?  Oh and for the record...it takes more than blood to be a mother.  It takes unconditional love for others regardless of age or circumstance.  That is mothering at it's best.

Happy Mother's Day...just a day late.

Now I think I'll go saddle up my unicorn!

~Hold her head up Ma. She's goin' to the barn!~Cat Daddy 

IV Pole Dancing

My goodness...how time flies when you're having fun...or in the hospital!

This time y'all I have a really good explanation for being absent for so long...with a signed doctor's excuse no less.

For those of y'all who don't follow me on Face Book, I have been a very, very sick girl.  My original plan was to give y'all a step by step account of my recent stay at the Hotel de Baylor, but then I asked myself, "Self...would you really want to hear a full recount of a bout of diverticulitis?" The answer of course was not just no, but heck no!

Instead I thought I'd share a few things I learned.

With your kind permission, there is one thing I'd like to mention first though.  Don't expect the doctors to believe you if you inform them you don't have an appendix.  Kinda like a unicorn or the elusive Big Foot, they gotta look for themselves to prove scientifically it doesn't exist...just to be on the safe side.  After all...that's what they get paid the big bucks for isn't it?

BTW...I'm expecting my 8x10 glossies of that first CT scan they ordered to arrive in the mail just any day now!

Now on to the Talking Trash School of Hospital Dance lessons!





Texas Two Step Via


1. When doing the Mambo with an IV pole, it's always best to let it lead. Trust me, it's gonna go where it wants to go and no amount of pushing and pulling is gonna change it's course of action...no matter how firm your hold position is.  It's kinda like trying to do the Samba with John Wayne if you catch my drift.  The only thing you'll accomplish is ending up wrapped to the pole by the IV line like a May Pole with your gown up around your ears.
2. When the urge to bust a move hits, you best not wait until the last minute to ask Mr. Pole to Quick Step you on over to the bathroom.  I learned the hard way it doesn't like to sit too long on the wallflower bench and can get a might testy when one tries to hurry it along. It can and will step/roll on your toes.  This was a dance move I learned the hard way and I've got the bruised big toe to prove it.
3. There is no way on God's green Earth you can ever make a cocktail dress out of a hospital gown.  Hot to trot?  Forget it...not even the matronly Fox Trot works in that get-up. Truth is, you can be neither vixen nor lady in one.  Nope...ain't gonna happen.  Face it...it is what it is...dog butt ugly.  That split up the back is not and will never be the same as a split up the thigh.  Law...it's not there to attract the opposite sex.  It's there to facilitate treatment or so they say, but I got me a hunch it's there to humble you into submission.  And boy oh boy...does it ever succeed!  Not even the ruffliest pair of Rumba britches can change that fact. Oh...and take it from me...putting it on backwards won't improve the view either!  That'll only get you raised eyebrows from the hospital staff and your kids the need for some therapy.
4.  If you're thinking a pair of dancing shoes will improve the situation...think again.  This year's fashion trend in hospital footwear includes a pair of hideous brown non-slip socks...hospital issued of course.  Which reminds me, I haven't got the bill for 'em yet.  I'm pretty sure those bad boys are gonna set me back more than a pair of Louboutin's.  Heck...couldn't they at least have red leather soles instead of white vinyl lines?  And lest I forget, there was the white electric leg warmers with matching knee-highs for circulation I wore each and every night.  At first it was like cat-dancing on my legs, but after an hour...ummm not so much.  I tried to re-imagine them as disco boots, but the first night as I was doing the Hustle to get them off for my bathroom Tango, I quickly changed their name to #%&$ PITA's.
5. Lastly, but certainly not leastly...the hairstyle to complete a hospital ballroom look.  Now if you're hoping for an up-do and long, dripping with crystals, earrings...Oh Mylanta...are you in for a disappointment.   I'm here to tell you the only thing that'll be dripping is the IV bags...and quite possibly you from those #%&$ disco boots.  I found my up-do consisted of my hair sticking straight up in the air.  Maybe a classic French twist?  Yeah...that was me all right,  doing the twist trying to brush out the tangles with my free arm while asking the nurse to pardon my French.

So there you have it.  For a glorious eight days and seven nights, my dance card was filled.  I was never at a loss for a partner (with perfect posture I might add) and I also came home with a party favor...a PICC line for further at home antibiotic infusion.  This lovely accessory came complete with a navy blue neck bag...for further humbling.  Before you ask...yes...it's working...both for healing and for humbling.  Navy blue has never been my color.  I'm more of an "autumn" type gal.

Now before you get to thinking me ungrateful, please allow me add one final important detail.  I'm blessed that I was able to come home with this latest in statement necklaces and thankful God kept me on the dance floor and not up on a surgeon's table.  I am recovering, albeit slowly, but everything is according to His plan.  Held firmly in His arms of my life's waltz, I will never try and lead, but happily follow Him as He grace-fully navigates me around the dance floor...

His rhythm and timing always perfection.

As I sit here, the IV line dangling over the keyboard as I try to type, I'm wondering just one thing:

Reckon I could bedazzle this cotton pickin' bag and start my own line of old lady accessories?

CHA-CHA-CHA!

         

And In This Corner

Bad grandmother...bad, bad Nana.

Bella turned four last Tuesday and I didn't do her birthday post...Deb says with her head hanging down in shame.

In my defense, there's been a lot happening here at the Casita de Trash, beginning with getting things ready to take to Warrenton and ending with Cat Daddy's unfortunate incarceration in the hospital. 

Before you ask, yes he's doing great, but I'm not gonna gross you out with the details.  He had a small surgery and because he's diabetic, required a four day hospital stay.

Needless to say, the last could have been a game changer, BUT God already had put our plan in place.

He had whispered to me not to carve anything into stone and by listening to Him, we avoided a heap of worry and the loss of an even heaper amount of do-re-mi.  I can't begin to express the feeling that sweeps over me when I am allowed to witness His hand in even the smallest of details in my life....which brings me back to Bella.

Tiny?  Yes, but a giant detail in our lives.

This beautiful, mere mite of a girl never ceases to amaze me.  Sometimes I find myself just sitting, staring and smiling at the wonder of her.

Nana:  Bella, how old are you?

Bella:  Less than 5 but more than 3.

Not to say she's a precious baby all the time.  Au contrary mes amies.  She can be quite the tiny terror at times and totally knows her own mind.  I like what Jenn says about Bella's...ahem...little outbursts of independence:

~In creating her, God made her a fighter.  He knew she'd have to strong willed.  That's one of the reasons she survived and flourished.~

Kinda hard to argue with that reasoning.

(Hmmm...now when did my daughter get so wise?  Oh yeah...when she was on her knees all those months Bella was in her glass castle at the hospital!  And for the record, Jenn is branching out into photography.  She captured Bella's essence in all these photos.  If you're in the DFW area, give her a shout on her Give Me Props page for a photography session.  Hey y'all knew I was gonna throw a commercial in here somewhere...right?)

Our little prize-fighter is a true champion bantam-weight.  Whether playing ribbid frog on the stepping stones or asking for more mac n'cheese, pound for pound, she is perfection in a tutu.  She's smart, funny, stubborn and snea---ky.

Most importantly though...she's a happy, rambunctious, little four year old just like every other four year old.

~I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.~ Psalms 139:14

PRAISE GOD!

So when I find her playing in my makeup, mascara all over the bathtub...and her, (did I mention she's quick?) it's hard to get upset with her.  I think back four years and fall heart first into those dimples.

Dimples deep enough to hold all the tears, prayers and love given by y'all to Bella the Blog Baby.

Happy birthday Bella McBean.  You're my lucky FOUR leaf clover.

Back Talk and Sass Encouraged Here!

From time to time...not often you understand...but about once a week, someone will ask me for tips on starting a blog.

Me?

Oh honey child o'mine...I am so not the one to ask.

Ask me about antiques and I'll tell you all I know.  Talk your ear off as a matter of fact.  Blogging...I just fly by the seat of my pants...but I'll still talk your ear off.

I haven't a clue as to what makes a successful blog.  I do however know a thing or two about what not to do...starting with the name of a blog.

(Hang onto your ears!)

Choose your name very, very...very carefully. By using a search engine, it will be one of the ways people find you.  Let's just stop and think for a moment.  Can y'all even begin to imagine the things that are typed in to find "Talking Trash"?  Yeah...let's just say most can't be reprinted, but just so's you know...a chubby old lady talking way too much about random cr@p  is not what they had in mind.

SQUIRREL ALERT!

When I started my blog, I had another name in mind, but it was taken by some guy named Anthony in the sanitation biz.  I tried several variations until Blogger accepted Talking White Trash.  Imagine my surprise when after hitting "publish", Talking Trash came up in my header.  God knew better than I what my blog would be and I truly believe He christened it.

(An even funnier side note y'all...on my dashboard page, I'm Trash Talk.)

~Many are the plans in a person's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails.~Pro. 19:21

So anyways...

be selective when selecting a name!

Your name choice, believe it or not, sets the tone, the direction, and your voice...all in one fell swoop.  You can go back and change it if you find it just isn't perking for you, but when you do, there's always a risk of losing folks.  As much as I cringe when I see "how to pick up chicks by trash talking"  or get e-mails asking for my trash pickup times, I choose to leave it be.  I'm not one to argue with God when He is making the calls.  I don't know about y'all, but I try never to sneeze on anything He chooses to give me....even when being asked the size of my trash receptacles.

(Ba dump, dump!  I crack myself up sometimes.)

One other little thing...or maybe not so little.

When picking a name, don't pick apart some one else's.  It's okay to look for inspiration from others, but...oh let's say for example...reversing their name isn't. As in everything else, originality counts. The name you choose announces you.  If it's a knock-off of a blog you admire, folks know. Believe you me, they know and will assume the worst.

There's also the risk of getting lost in the shuffle, or even worse, your identity being lost to theirs.  Nothing worse than being told by a fan how they love your blog and read you all the time only to learn they're talking about some one else.

Oy vey!  Talk about identity crisis.  

(A little FYI...after praying for a name, if the Lord tells you to call it The French Vintage Chic  Gypsy Burlap Shabby Zinc-Topped Nest, who am I to try and tell you different.  Hey...you gotta do, what you gotta do.)

Are y'all still with me?

Since my mind has a tendency to run off at the mouth, I'll only share one other piece of it on starting up a blog...commenting.

Y'all know I'm struggling with the comment thingy.  I truly do want to take some of the pressure off of those who stop by plus it's getting harder and harder for me to leave comments.  I struggle with guilt because I do like to leave comments.  Maybe it's just an extension of the thrill of the written word, but it gives me pleasure to leave one and hopefully it gives them pleasure to receive it.  Not having enough time in a day prevents that and...

  I.don't.like.it.one.bit.

Saying that, I won't try and kid y'all...comments are the coffee to a post.  They are a blogger's crack.  It's the single thing that stimulates more postings.  The lack of them can also be the single thing that prevents 'em.

You can write what you consider the most brilliant post in the history of blogging, but if no one tells you, you feel like a complete failure.

You'll find yourself floundering around, wringing your hands and asking "what did I do wrong"? 

"How can so-and-so put up a couple of photos of a rose and get a gazillion comments and I can't even get one?"

"WTHey...I just poured sweat into this post and no one gets it?"

The answer my friends is simple...I don't have the answer.

There simply is no magic bullet.

Call it the luck of the draw, call it charisma, call BS on it...it still ain't gonna change a cotton pickin' thing.

As in everything else, there are gonna be sheep who comment on everything a McBlogger puts up, secretly praying some of the glitter and fame will rub off.  Hoping against hope their comment will lead others to their blogs...and sometimes it does.  But more often than not, it doesn't.

For me, a cut and paste comment just doesn't..well...cut it.  I don't want folks to feel like they gotta bust out a Byronesque love sonnet on me, but I do want to feel like they read what I had to say.

 

My advice if starting a new blog?

Leave comments...a lot...even if you're not getting any.  You've got to make your presence known.  Push through the pesky verification process.  Do like me...don't wait to be invited. Barge right on in, have a sit-down, and say hidy, hidy y'all.  Seldom will you find a locked door.

It's not rocket science.

You're already there...take the time to read the words.  Make it a practice to find something to comment on within the writing.  Don't be bashful.  Even if the standard cut-and-paste is the best you can do, find a keyword...and use it in your comment.

A word of warning.  Use your words wisely.

I once read a post about losing a beloved pet, only to read a comment someone carelessly left stating what a pretty dog and how happy it looked.  I was embarrassed for the commenter, but also saddened.  I can only begin to imagine how the grieving pet owner felt after reading it.

Please, please, please...take the time to read all the way to the bottom.  If you don't have the time...don't comment.  Come back later when you do or if it just wasn't your cup o'tea...move on.  The whole purpose of commenting is to encourage the blogger, introduce yourself and hopefully make new friends.  Saying how happy a recently passed pet looks is not the way to go about it.  Remember...others read the comments as well as the post itself.

The words and photos shared are important and they should be to you as a fellow blogger.  In your own words, leave them a little piece of your heart in exchange for theirs.  Trust me...it WILL be appreciated and duly noted.

Right about now I bet y'all are wishing no one had asked my advice...aren't y'all?

Okay...I'll shut up...for now, but there may just be an Act II waiting in the wings on this subject.  We'll see.

For now, it's time for me go and follow my own advice.  You know...practicing what I preach.

 

Changing Gears-Part I

Change.

Have y'all ever noticed how much this one word creeps into our daily lives and speech?

change in the wind

change in the blink of an eye

oil change

short changed

change of heart

change for the better

change your mind

change of address

I know I'm seeing it more as I get...ahem...older and not just in the change of seasons.

In fact, it's that last one that's getting to me right now.

There's a lot of changes going on here at the Casita de Trash, but I'm only addressing the spring antique show today 'cause...well, there's this whole time and place change thingy we've been facing.

Time...or maybe timing is a better word...is not my friend. Not that we were ever on the best of terms, but it's really making itself scarce lately.

SQUIRREL ALERT!

FYI...for those of y'all who think working at home allows you unlimited time...think again.  Having yourself as a boss can be challenging.  Me, myself, and I can be a real taskmaster, but having me, myself, and I as an employee is kinda like having loose change in the bottom of a big ol' purse.  Seems me, myself, and I isn't very organized, rattles around a lot and jingle-jangles even more.  Me, myself, and I, are just like those bad pennies tucked away in the hidey-holes of a handbag; weighing me down, elusive when needed, and only show up with a used Kleenex stuck to her their backside.  Me, myself, and I can and does drive me, myself, and I crazy.

So when looking at the calendar, seeing Antiques Week looming in just 5 weeks and knowing Cat Daddy can't get the two weeks off needed to do a proper show set up, I'm faced with a game changer.

Do I do the show by myself...AGAIN...or do we change our course of action?  I voted for a little change-up this time...and my vote outweighs his vote by 2 to 1...thanks to those pennies.

Instead of committing to the full two weeks needed, we are opting to go down the week before the shows actually open.  We're going to load a few things on the smaller trailer, find a change of scenery to drop it on (I'll give you the 411 on that when I know), sell for a few days and then take the rest of the week to just enjoy ourselves.

Presto-chango...I felt better immediately.  It was as if a huge load had been lifted off my shoulders.  I'm not saying this will be our permanent change of plans, but for now...it works.

That's the beauty of change.  It's the knowing nothing has to be carved in stone or nailed to the floor...unless we choose to add water to the cement.  Every now and then we all need a change of habit...otherwise, without the nerve to try a change of pace, we  I might as well just sit life out.

Source Via Pinterest

(As long as we're talking about changes, let me add a caboose to this train of thought.  Several folks have let me know they like the "comments" section open. I'll try it for a while, but I have to say I still feel guilty about it.  Never fear though.  Y'all know me and anything can change in a heartbeat!)

A List A Mile Long

TO DO LIST---FEBRUARY 19, 2013

1. Try to find a different profile photo.  I've added a lot few wrinkles since the last one was taken.
2. Photoshop the recent one Graycie took...or spring for a face lift.
3. Do price comparisons on face lift costs.
4. Check want-ads for J-O-B to pay for face lift.
5. Learn to walk on hands to try and reverse gravity.
6. Go to Dollar Tree for first aid kit.
7.  While still in car, apply bandages from first aid kit to stop the bleeding and hide the bruises.
8. Have a brain fart while driving home.
9.  Use car visor mirror to strategically stick band aids (from Dollar Tree first aid kit) to temples and behind the ears for DIY face lift.
10. Sigh loudly and accept the fact this is my mother's face looking back at me from the mirror.
11. Ask myself why would I want to change a thing?
12. Throw this list away and start a new one.

REVISED "TAKE TIME TO REMEMBER" TO DO LIST---FEBRUARY 19, 2012

1. Remember Helen always wore a slip under her dresses...and not just the white, summer ones.
2. Remember how she didn't try to hide her tears or her joy.  She cried when I cried and laughed when I laughed.
3. Remember her red nail polish was always on or off, but never chipped.
4. Remember her short pencil when there were more days in the month than money in the bank.
5. Remember how every child, regardless of age, thought they were her favorite...including me.
6. Remember her hospitality when guests were in her home...regardless of their circumstances or why they were there.
7. Remember how she treated everyone as her equal...no better than her, but more importantly, not inferior either.
8. Remember how daily she proved class and good taste cannot be bought or sold. It's something one is born with.  She just knew her perfume should never enter a room before she did, but linger a moment or two after she had left.
9. Remember how she didn't wait for someone to tell her she could...she just did.
10. Remember when she forgave, she forgot.  She didn't leave behind a single burned bridge or singed enemy.
11. Remember her size 6 shoes that seemed so tiny at the time, but were so big to try and fill afterwards.
12. Remember her smile.  Even at the end.

Helen Louise Sadler Callahan

Today is my mother's birthday. I'd say how old she would have been, but there's some things a lady never owns up to...her age being one of them.  I will say she left us for the better world a'waitin' right about 15 years ago. That September morning is still as fresh in my memory as if it were yesterday. The pain isn't as sharp, but the beautiful memories of her are.  I carry them around in my heart and from time to time, take them out to share with the world.  Today is one of those days.

There isn't a day that goes by I don't achingly miss her, but thank goodness, I only have to look in the mirror to remember what she looked like.  As for her character, I can only hope to be half the woman or a tenth of the lady she was.

P.S. You're allowed to smile or laugh with this post. That's the way Mother would have liked it...trust me.

Two Tickets To Paradise

So here's the deal pickle.

I had planned a lovely, short, charming little post about my granddaughters for Valentine's Day.

  Notice I said had?

Passion has a way of being an excellent game changer...and by passion, of course I mean Cat Daddy.

Seriously y'all. What's a gal to do when her big ol' hunka-hunka burnin' love, sweeps in and softly whispers those three little magical words in her ear...words every woman dreams of hearing?

50 PERCENT OFF!

I don't know what y'all would have done, but this stove-up old lady got frisky real quick.  Bunny hopped her happy, happy into the poodle seat, and buckled up for a trip down Lovers' Lane.

A lady should never buy and tell, but just between us lovers of old...Cat Daddy, being the manly man he is, delivered...boy and how!

Heaven help me y'all...I didn't want to stop.

More, more...I wanted more.  Room after room, we chased each other 'round 'til finally we had to stop...the checkbook was empty.

I'd love to be able to tell y'all that it only took one trip to scratch my itch, but sadly...no.  One go-round just didn't cut it...neither did a repeat or even a three-peat. 

Nope...not even close.

Only after becoming fourth time offenders did we finally call it quits.  But just so's you know, when it comes to loving what we do, we have stamina...even at our age.  Oooh y'all...I'm still blushing beet red and getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

Driving home that night, a full moon lighting our way, exhausted and happy, I turned to my big ol' Cat Daddy and breathlessly said...

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

(Photo...and added sentiments...courtesy of Cactus Creek Daily.  Thanks Fancy!)

(Note to self:  Be sure to remember to turn on comments so that Graycie can read how cute she is.)

Oh mylanta...at half-price off, this was a killer estate sale.

Everything was wonderful and priced to sell.  Not that it was dirt cheap by any means...hey you get what you pay for...but still reasonable for resale. When Paige has another estate sale, I'll be sure to hook y'all up...

Maybe!


I'm linking to Debra at Common Ground...where inspiration is never common!