Keister Easter

Last Thursday J called to tell me the bottle of orange juice he brought from home to work was suspiciously lukewarm. I immediately dismissed him, because I am prone to knee-jerk, emotional, snap judgements before having all the facts. Sometimes.

Or maybe it was because our fridge was brand-spanking new in January, so how in holy hell could there be something wrong with it already???

Well, a day later, when I opened the door to find the eggs sweating & fanning themselves while sitting under those tiny paper drink umbrellas, I knew something was wrong. Fortunately, the repairman was prompt and fixed the problem by Monday afternoon, no charge. Thank you, large appliance warranty!

While my food was sweltering in the unseasonably warm weather last week, I took the opportunity to go outside and play in the dirt. Manure, to be more specific. I shovelled nearly half a wheelbarrow of aged goat poo onto my flowerbeds before realizing that the strong wind was blowing flecks of dry crap onto my freshly-sunscreened face. I was literally getting shit-faced.

And that's probably how I'll remember Easter 2010. I got shit-faced and my cheese went bad. That, and we were short one familiar face at the holiday table. Ah, fickle young love. I'm thinking of creating a Memorandum of Understanding we can use with boys and girls who wish to date our siblings. You know, something that outlines the reasons why you'll be cold and distant to your sister's new boyfriend for the first six months, and your Christmas & birthday gifts will cost less than $30 for the first two years. In return, your brother's girlfriend will have to sign the form to demonstrate her acceptance of your harsh judgement and unwillingness to participate in activities usually reserved for friends (shopping, tandem mani-pedis, mojitos & games of croquet) until she demonstrably proves that she's not going to remove your brother's heart with a tetanus-infested rusty Garden Weasel.

This will be accomplished by getting married and locking that down. How doesn't matter: kids, significant financial and/or emotional co-dependency, an intense collective love of the house/dogs, an agreement to gain weight together, lots of Catholic guilt...

I don't know. I'm still working out the kinks.