Guess who will have to buy the cake next year? (Tradition says that it should be that cute little girl wearing the Baby Jesus on her forehead. Experience says it will be me. Again.)
I realize that Mardi Gras was a week ago and we are well into the Lenten season. But in the intervening week I have been painting, trying not to die of plague, and riveted to the television by the suffering and crisis in Japan. There may or may not also have been some lasagna eating and wine drinking with friends and a game or two of the Animal Game.
My point is, that time keeps speeding up and my intentions, although good, are tardy nonetheless. Hence the Mardi Gras post on the Ides of March.
Another guessing game: Do you know who is having a birthday today? Not me. I done had mine. Two days in a row--remember? No, it's my Supah Genius brother in TX. So, happy birthday Jon! I'm not sure having your birthday posted on my blog is the same as having your name in lights, but it's gotta be close, right?
And because I haven't been scattered enough in this particular post, I will leave you with this little ditty that has been sung around our house to the tune of Katy Perry's "Firework":
Tilly's butt's a firework,
when she farts we go berserk.
She makes us go oh!oh!oh!
Hurry plug your nose, nose noooo-se!
Boom, boom, boom!
She'll make you run from the room, room, room.
Did a squirrel die inside of you, you, you?
Wave your hands and go "phew! phew! phew!"
Tilly's butt's a firework,
when she farts we go berserk.
She makes us go oh!oh!oh!
Hurry plug your nose, nose, noooo-se!
My apologies to those of you who are offended by farts, references to farts, the idea of farting dogs (although the idea isn't nearly as offensive as the real thing, believe me), Katy Perry, and/or my putting my wretched song parody on this blog. I'm sure that my writing skills could be put to better use, but sometimes writing a song about dog farts is exactly where I am in life and it gets me through the day. Not to mention that it provides hours of fun with the family. And yes, I have threatened my children that if they sing this song in public I will deny I ever knew them.
Perhaps tomorrow I will write about cats and hairballs. You never know.
(I promise that tomorrow I will not write about cats and hairballs. Please come back, 'kay?)
