Okay, so Mrs. Nesbitt is a bit scatterbrained these days. In fact, I think all the other housewives are off their rockers this summer. A couple of them have started this "losing weight" thing while another one of them is drowning in Amish bread starters. Apparently one of them is an auntie again. One of them is a work-at-home-stay-at-home mom starting this week. One is deeply involved in the dental hygeine of small rodents residing in her house. They're all busy taking care of their kids and husbands (ick) and I guess they just think I sit around all day glaring at campaign signs littering my view and expect ME to pick up the slack when they forget they're supposed to post.
Well, good thing I really was just sitting here glaring at campaign signs and had nothing else to do. I mean, it's not like I'm cooking for a husband or *gasp* baking something. Nope, I was knee-deep in a margarita while watching the yoga channel (trust me, it's very relaxing) when Mrs. Nesbitt called me up all screeching and whining and saying that a bag of Amish bread starter exploded in her kitchen and she was pretty sure she had lost one of her kids somewhere in the mess and could I do her an itty bitty favor and post something up here on the site for her pretty pretty please. And because she promised to never offer me a ziploc baggie of bread starter I agreed to help the poor thing out. See, she's a country bumpkin, God love her. I expect someday soon she'll enter some jams and jellies in the county fair. And I'll laugh at her for it, but only behind her back.
See, some of us out here, even though we are housewives (okay, so right now I'm technically in-between wife-hoods, but I'm sure that will change soon) are just not domestic. While Mrs. Sinclair drives her adorable princess-child around in the Pageantmobile, some of us prefer to just watch "Toddlers and Tiaras" while wearing the tiara and sash from when we were Miss Merry Christmas 1984 with a box of tissues close at hand. While Mrs. McGillicutty and Mrs. Albright are doing ghastly things to their bodies by making them all sweaty and toned and stuff, some of us prefer to set ourselves up on the couch with a package of Oreos, a pitcher of Sangria and a stack of Denise Austin workout videos to heckle. Mrs. Priss apparently is the Queen Mother of Domestication and well, she's just so perfect and perky she's borderline nauseating. Mrs. Smith makes a mean frozen pie and Mrs. Paul has the market cornered on fish sticks. Mrs. Hart is all SuperMom/Babysitter that she took four - count 'em FOUR - kids to a children's dance class yesterday and enjoyed it. She's also teaching those kids manners.
And they say I'm mentally unstable.
I guess what I'm saying is this: Just because you stay at home doesn't mean you have to don an apron, pearls and sensible shoes and make casseroles. Oh, you can do that, sure, but you can also just do what I do:
Wait....what is it I do? Hmh. I'm sure I knew at one time. That might've been a few husbands ago, though. Or was that margaritas?
Anyway....yeah. I think my drink is in need of a refill and I've rambled on enough that Mrs. Nesbitt will be satisfied with the job I have done here. She's actually pretty easily appeased. Those country people are simple like that. God love her.
Mrs. Robinson, aka Miss Merry Christmas 1984