This week’s column for In Utah This Week talks about my experiences with hiding the evidence of a hot date from my mother and the world.
AND…
If that’s not enough, you can read my post on Aiming Low where I explain the best way to lose male friends and fatten your hooha.
After having the below conversation with my nephew, I decided being an aunt is the hardest job in the world. Parents have the right to beat their children. Aunts don’t. You tell me which is the easier way to deal with kids?
Yeah… I rest my case.
“Aunt Sarah, do you remember when you wore your yellow alligator underwear at my house?”
“I do Buddy, but why do you? That was three years ago.”
“I just really didn’t like them. I don’t think girls should wear boy underwear.”
“Carter they were boxers I wore to bed. Not all day underwear.”
“Well I don’t care. I’m buying you real underwear for your birthday, and they are going to be blue with cougars all over them.”
“Why are cougars OK, but alligators aren’t?”
“Because, Aunt Sarah, you are a cougar.”
“CARTER! I’m not a cougar. Who even told you that?”
“Nobody. I just know things.”
“You’re such a brat. Do you even know what that means?”
“Duh. It means you love BYU.”
I didn’t know where to start, so I didn’t. I’m not a BYU fan, nor am I a cougar, but some things aren’t worth explaining to a six-year-old. It’s much better to spend that time thinking of ways to get even. There’s going to be a very painful wedgie in his immediate future.
Some people leave themselves daily affirmations on their bathroom mirrors.
Not me.
I leave myself reminder notes on the shower tile with rejected lip liner colors.
Since I don’t have anyone else to do it, I also leave myself love notes around the house. This is not as sad as it sounds. I just really love notes.
And lists.
And obviously reminder notes. Without them how would I ever remember to do things?
Um, I wouldn’t.
I can’t wait to see if this week’s column offends hippies. I suspect they are easier going than the truck driving community, but these things are hard to predict.
DAMMIT.
I should have asked the tarot reader about this. Maybe she can still email me a list of all future offenses. That would make life sooooo much easier… you know because then I’d have a publishing schedule.
