Be it Venial or Mortal (there's no escaping Original), we've all got secrets -- light, dark, funny, sad -- worth bringing to light. The act of confession can be liberating, mollifying and entertaining. Contrition? Repentance? A shot of Tequila? That's your call, sister.
Photo by Pink Sherbert Photography
1) What is one of the proudest moments of your life?
2) Bagel or croissant?
3) What is one song you know all the words to?
4) What is your favorite kitchen gadget?
5) Has it snowed in your neck of the woods yet?
When Mrs. G. was a sophomore in high school, she had a crush on a boy named Joe. Like any crush worth its salt, it was unrequited. Joe, a junior, knew Mrs. G. existed but he was regrettably disentranced. While her heart would accelerate when she saw him walking down the hall, nine times out of ten, he would cruise on by in his straight-leg jeans and skinny tie, clueless or careless depending on the day. Occasionally, he administered a scrap of interest -- mainly when he needed a ride.
In December of 1983, one afternoon when Mrs. G. was driving him home, Joe casually mentioned he might be interested in Mrs. G. Book-smart but not heart-smart, Mrs. G. jumped at the chance to maybe be liked. It was a risk worth taking. He was prime time high school real-estate. He had a Members Only jacket.
Two days before Christmas, Mrs. G. picked Joe up to go to a movie. When she walked into his house to get him, he was digging through a sack.
"I bought a gift today," he said.
"You didn't need to do that," Mrs. G. said, elated.
"Awwwkward. It's not for you."
At the intersection of humor and humble pie, Mrs. G. realized you couldn't force someone to like you. After about four more tries, it sunk in.
Good old Joe.
Mrs. G. eventually started charging him gas money and moved on.
When I was a young woman, I led a fast and exciting - or hectic and desperate - life in New York City in the late 1970s. And there I met a man I thought I would settle down with. That thought was brief, as he turned out to be a cad. But oh, he was a handsome and fascinating cad!
Updated: The Terry Bradshaw book wins the First Annual Worst Derf Gift Ever Contest. Congrats or condolences Bonnie. Send me your address and an 8x10 pastel painting of two kittens and ball of yarn is yours! Lucky you. Thanks to everyone for voting.
Mrs. G. got a real kick out of reading yesterday's Thursday Five questions, particularly the answers concerning the worst gift you have ever received. She has narrowed the list down to the five she considers most grisly, but it's up to you, reader. Which gift would you most like NOT to receive.
*The loser author of the winning answer will receive a piece of Mrs. G's bad cat art whether she wants to or not.
Here are the choices:
1) A snow blower
2) A hand painted quail egg necklace
3) A copy of "Terry Bradshaw: Man of Steel"
4) A plastic file box
5) 12 fire extinguishers
These questions concern Christmas. If you don't celebrate it, thank your lucky stars you don't have to go the mall and come back tomorrow for non-holiday related content.
1) What are you or your family's three favorite Christmas dinner dishes?
2) What is the worst Christmas present you have ever received?
3) Is your tree up? Real or fake?
4) Do you put Christmas lights on your house?
5) Do you like cats? No pressure.
SOME PROFANITY! Mrs. G. came home to this message on her Facebook page yesterday -- not that it matters, but she was out buying Bearpaw boots because her furnace gave up the ghost yesterday and her feet were cold. So let's set the scene: cold, hungry, sad to enter her tundra of a home and out of Diet Dr. Pepper...only to come home to this...
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