Daily Kup (My Life with Sinus Drip) Princess Potatohead dragged her tired, cold-ridden little body up the stairway after a long day at school. Her persistent cough and 102 degree temperature tell me that she won't be going anywhere tomorrow. Attila the Son is slightly better — still dragging but well enough to regain a touch of combativeness. As a tribute to St. Patrick's Day, the ache in my head has taken on the formation of Irish Soda Bread with fiery lines of pain in quadrants. How festive! The cold chills are nice, too.
While Kollege Kid went downtown to see the big parade, the rest of us celebrated in a more sedate fashion. We ate corned beef, cabbage, potatoes and carrots washed down with some Nyquil.
Death Be Not Proud ... nor Socially Incorrect
Princess Potatohead is obsessed with my demise. She frequently drops little bon mots like, "When you die, I'm going to miss you" and "I'm going to go to your funeral." She was planning my funeral again today when she became concerned that rules of social decorum would be breached. "Are you going to send me an invitation?" she wondered. I explained that this would probably be her party to throw and she could invite whom she chose. She thought about it for a little while and evidently was not convinced.
"When you start to go, could you quick write me an invitation?"
A Big Thank You to Mr. T ...
... Who went out to get me a Shamrock Shake for my sore throat at 11 PM.
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2 comments:
Now, since you married a man quite a bit your junior maybe he can plan your demise and then Teegan(sic) could have an invitation too. Can I please get on your mailing list?
He can plan the funeral, but not the demise -- it was the last husband who was trying to kill me. You can by all means be on the mailing list. Please note that anyone dancing on my grave is required to wear a red dress. Heels optional. (Oh, no, we are back to that 'foot' comment again.)
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