Tales of Wit and Charm…

I feel ill today—on the verge of puking every other second. Yet, I still made it to classes and to work. I’m very proud of my current Supergirl status, though I’d much rather be curled up in bed with someone taking care of me. Only there isn’t a someone in my life right now. Daisy with her lack of opposable thumbs is completely useless.

I can’t decide if I ate something bad, or if I’m still sick over yesterday’s lunch conversation with my mom:

Mom: “Do you want my tomatoes?”
Sarah: “No thank you. They are good for the prostate, but my non-existent one is fine at the moment.”
M: “Oh, they are? I’ll have to tell your dad. When I rolled over in bed….”
S: “MOM!! Please stop. I do not want to hear this. No way, no how. Just stop!”
M: “What? Anyway…”
S: “Mom, I’m not kidding. I’ll leave.”
M: “As I was saying…”

(At this point I was curled up in fetus position underneath the table. Okay that part isn’t true, but I did briefly consider it.)

M: “When I rolled over in bed I noticed a book on your dad’s side of the table. It was a prostate health book. See, it wasn’t that bad. You’re so weird about things.”
S: “Remind me why I meet you for lunch?”
M: “Because I pay.”

I know it’s selfish, but I just don’t want to hear this stuff. It was bad enough having my mom and cousin, both nurses, discussing labor and delivery. I can only assume they were trying to discourage the birth of my hypothetical illegitimate child.

To read my In Utah This Week column click here. You know you want to!

“Mom I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately– if for some reason I end up knocked up and all alone will you be there for me?”

“Of course honey, unless I’m dead.”

“Funny you should mention that, you almost died Monday. When my alarm clock went off that morning I remember hearing on the news about a nasty car wreck in Millard county and a woman died. I realized I hadn’t heard from you on Sunday and thought maybe you were dead.”

“You did? You didn’t call.”

“I thought about it, but I went back to sleep instead.  When I got up later I figured someone would have called me if you were dead. BUT I did tell my friends the story later that afternoon if that counts for anything.”

“Sweetie, your Dad is in Alaska, who would have called you? You really should have called me to check.”

“MOM! You aren’t dead! Does it really matter now? I just want to know if you’re going to be supportive when I’m knocked up and all alone. You can’t be dead, who is going to raise my child?”

“Ummm, are you trying to tell me something, Sarah?”

“No Mother, I’m the furthest thing from knocked up. I’m currently in a dry spell.”

“Sarah as much as I’d love to discuss your sex life, I need to get back to work now. We can discuss this when I see you tomorrow afternoon at lunch.”

“You really want to discuss my hypothetical illegitimate child?!”

“Not a chance. See you tomorrow. Sarah, please don’t forget to show up.”

Dear Chady-Bear,

It’s nice to hear you’re not dead. I haven’t heard that directly from you of course, but from our dear mother. WHAT THE HELL?! You can take the time to send her a letter, but not me? I’ve given you a five day grace period from when mom received her letter, and still… nothing. Bad Chad! Are you playing favorites because you came out of her? Because if so, might I remind you, who did you spend more time with until the age of five? Yeah, me. Maybe you blocked those years from your memory, and for the sake of your inner holy ghost, perhaps that’s best.

Do you remember when you thought you invented the “F” word? (For the safety of your eternal salvation I’ll not type the actual word. Now that’s love!) I was driving you to daycare on my way to school, which I did EVERY SINGLE DAY! You couldn’t get your seatbelt to buckle correctly and you yelled f*** at the top of your cute little lungs. I asked you were in the world you’d heard such a bad word. “Sissy, I made it up. It’s my word, not bad.” I’d never been so proud, so I let you have that one. That was the year you made a bed inside my closet because I wouldn’t let you sleep with me and you wanted to be close. You were four.

Listen up Bear… if you don’t send me a letter soon, I’m going to be forced to tell your mission president your affinity for profanity.

Love, love, love you!

Sis

Uncle Cabbage Patch took Ben and I to dinner last week. As he was paying (Thanks!) I caught a peek at his wallet and couldn’t stop laughing at his Mexican produce. Is it a fruit or is it a vegetable. Who knows!

You’ve read her name on here before, and may have noticed her blog. But do you really know Midge, and don’t you wonder where I got her?

Marjorie and I met in 2000… I think. A male friend of mine met her on LDSSO.com. Yes, really. The day after their first date I asked him how it went. He described her as pretty, sarcastic and had enough sass to back it all up. “She opened the door with a cocktail in hand. I hated her, but you two would be PERFECT for one another!” And we were. I’ve long since lost track of him, but Midge was the best thing he could have ever done for me. I’ve loved her ever since our first date to Red Rock, even if she did smoke Newports.

I call her Midge because that’s Barbie’s best friend. But you knew that, didn’t you?