Please don’t laugh at me.
Once again I’ve been caught up in a whirlwind of pizza, summer and my crazy life in general. Wow. We need to catch up. Let’s start with the above picture. Last weekend Johnny and I decided to take our youngest out for a family afternoon of putt-putt and ice cream as her older sister was at the zoo with friends.
This is the “Tyrannosaurus Rex” that greets you at the front of the “park”. I don’t know where to start with this poor guy. I’ve never seen a less confident or unsure dinosaur in my life. Menacing? Notsomuch. I realize that this is a children’s putt-putt course, but c’mon…even our 6 year old speculated aloud if he was perhaps anemic? Sheesh.
The restaurant biz is going well but completely exhausting. I’m proud to say that I’ve mastered most of the menu and cooking is becoming secondhand. Waiting tables on the other hand, is a bit of a curve. People are strange. Just last night I had a customer doing “hits” of grated parmesan cheese right into his mouth at his table. Like he totally unscrewed the cap and tilted up the shaker and tapped the bottom until chunks and sprinkles flew into his piehole.
So, the other day my sweet husband went to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and got completely tangled up in our sheets and fell, hitting his head smack dab on the corner of our nightstand. This is bad, right? Of course. What’s worse is that earlier in the same evening I decided to collect my pillow and dog and go sleep in the guestroom due to his snoring. Therefore, I had no idea of the accident itself until the next morning when I sleepily went in to our bathroom only to find that Norman Bates had evidently visited us in the middle of the night. Blood everywhere.
This is not an ideal way to wake up, folks. I couldn’t even process what could have possibly happened. I ran into the bedroom and rolled Johnny over to find my half-conscious husband with a huge blood soaked bandage over his left eye.
I’m not sure what stunned me more…the fact that he went back to sleep after a pretty nasty headwound or the fact that he didn’t come get me because he didn’t want to wake me up. I’m here to tell ya, half of East Tennessee would have heard about it had it happened to me. It ended almost a full day later with stitches, gauze, bandages and pain killers. Now we are grateful for any morning we wake up and NO ONE IS HURT. Jesus.
This guy is also at the “park” with the Milquetoasty T-Rex. He seems somewhat falsely confident and borderline jaunty for what is (I’m assuming) supposed to be a terrorizing ghost.
Now for the real show stopper.
Okay, you were phoning it before but this is ridiculous. On the score card this hole is called “Hairy Horror”. This vulturey spidery half-assed debacle lazily drifts an inch over the hole and provides NO CHALLENGE whatsoever. In fact the only challenge is getting your damn ball out of the hole without that nasty carcass touching your arm. Yig.
Anyway. Two last things. Two people I wanted to kill within the last 24 hours.
1. Guy at Old Navy eating Doritos and touching every piece of clothing he sees.
2. Lady at Target reading Father’s Day cards aloud to some asshat on the other end of her cellphone.
So, there’s putt putt and head wounds and pizza and murderous urges.
That’s an average week, I’d say.