I would be the first one to admit that, as far as looks go, I am average. Of course, my husband would disagree with me (I think the term ‘babe-alicious’ would creep into his mind), but in the eyes of most of society, I am just another chick goin’ to Wal-Mart on a Thursday afternoon. Therefore I was much surprised today when I was treated to cat-calls and other general hooplah . . . by a five year old.
“Hey, come here and give me a kissy-kissy,” he hollered at me repeatedly. “I just want a kissy!”
What do you say to such advances from a gangly backwoods kindergartner? Should you feel honored or just immensely creeped out? I go for the latter. I mean, that kid could grow up to be the next Pee Wee Herman. He certainly looked the part.
This situation also could be sad as well, since I’m only hit on by pre-adolescent guys. No guys my age oogle at me, except that one dude from Steven’s apartment, and I wonder if he was slightly drunk, or stoned, or both. Nevertheless, it makes for a good story.
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I’m slowly gettin ready for the trip. My clothes are a-washin now, and then I shall pack. I better not forget Renton’s food, toys, his otter bitch, and his leash. I need the Plexiglas and paint, the camera, DVD’s for Cathy, phone charger, blender, uhhh, toothbrush, and surely I’ll remember the normal clothes and my entourage of self-grooming items. And if I do forget any of this stuff, certain people can ride my ass about it all week, because how can someone post a list of ‘stuff to get’ on their blog and then forget it? Surely I am above that.
Ha ha ha.
Oh yeah, swimsuit! And flip flops that I intend to mod this weekend.
I won’t forget a thing.
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And one last note, did you know that the word ‘blog’ is not in Blogger’s dictionary? Me either, until just a second ago. Oddsfish.