Crawfish.
April 5, 2008
Tonight, my husband and I are going to a crawfish boil. The host is a friend, originally from Louisiana, and this event has become a tradition. He orders in the food and does all of the cooking himself. It’s a wonderfully messy affair, with lots of food and even more beer. I have to say, though, that I am a bit squeamish around the crawfish themselves. Poor little guys. It’s sort of sad watching their fate. If you don’t already know it, crawfish are boiled before you eat them…and they’re alive when they hit the boiling water. Misery. Then, to top it off, there is this whole sucking the head thing that happens during the eating process (if you are a true Cajun). Of course, by this time, the crawfish are goners, so they don’t know what’s happening. But, still, it’s a rough deal for those crawfish. I may have to abide by this old Cajun saying I found, “Kiss the blue crawfish and spare his life, and you will be blessed with good luck.”
BabiesRUs.
April 3, 2008
For those of you who are parents, I imagine you’ve taken at least one trip to BabiesRUs. And maybe you non-parents have been to buy a baby shower gift or two. If you haven’t been at all, consider yourselves lucky. The place is like nothing I’ve ever seen before–a cross between Chuck E. Cheese and Walmart. Unruly kids, unrulier parents, and so many aisles of baby crap, your head just spins around backwards when you enter the place. I have actually seen women go to blows in the place over the sale rack. Each with a vice grip on the last onesie on the rack, practically pulling it apart at the seams. And then there are those “deer in the headlights” moms-to-be, who clearly forgot to bring their seasoned friend with them. Instead they’re with their glazed over husbands who are trying to figure out how to squeeze themselves into the nearest playpen for a nap. I knew my life had changed forever when the BabiesRUs became my new haunt. No more Saturday mornings in bed until noon. Now, you’ll find me pacing the aisles in search of diapers and formula…and that last onesie on the rack.
Marriage.
April 2, 2008
A friend sent me this today:
A Short Love Story
A man and a woman who had never met before, but were both married to other people, found themselves assigned to the same sleeping room on a Trans-continental train. Though initially embarrassed and uneasy over sharing a room, they were both very tired and fell asleep quickly. He in the upper bunk and she in the lower. At 1:00 AM, the man leaned down and gently woke the woman saying, “Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but would you be willing to reach into the closet to get me a second blanket? I’m awfully cold.” “I have a better idea,” she replied. “Just for tonight, let’s pretend that we’re married.” “Wow! That’s a great idea!” he exclaimed. “Good,” she replied. “Get your own damn blanket.” After a moment of silence, he farted.
…for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, ’till death do us part.
Spade-ism #3.
April 1, 2008
What a gully washer that is.
Spade-ism #2.
April 1, 2008
That rain is a frog strangler.
Spade-ism #1.
April 1, 2008
It is a real toad choker out there.
Rain.
April 1, 2008
It’s been raining here off and on for the past few days (Dear Lord, please let it stop in time for our garage sale). I was watching the rain last night thinking about that saying, “It was raining cats and dogs.” And then thought, what the heck does that mean exactly? So, I Googled it. I am a mad Googler, by the way. I Google everything. The first entry started by disclaiming certain derivations and then went on to say this:
The much more probable source of ‘raining cats and dogs’ is the prosaic fact that, in the filthy streets of 17th/18th century England, heavy rain would occasionally carry along dead animals and other debris. The animals didn’t fall from the sky, but the sight of dead cats and dogs floating by in storms could well have caused the coining of this colourful phrase. Jonathan Swift described such an event in his satirical poem ‘A Description of a City Shower‘, first published in the 1710 collection of the Tatler magazine.
How lovely. I am so glad I looked that up. Not sure I’ll ever be able to use the phrase again, actually. Which means I will have to resort to one of my husband’s sayings (the famous Spade-isms). So famous, in fact, that I have decided to post one a week here in a separate category.
When it rains…I mean, when it really pours down rain…he comes out with one of these, “It is a real toad choker out there,” or “That rain is a frog strangler,” or “What a gully washer that is.” No Googling necessary with these sayings. They just tell it like it is. Gotta love my husband.
