soapboxdiner

All about the Get-toe

You know it's a crazy world you live in when all you want to do is a little honest overtime. So, you call the folks to pick the kid up from daycare.



You work your honest little overtime (not that it got you anywhere) and then you go to get your kid. You walk into your parent's home and are met with this:

I tell you, there are just some things you don't expect to find hanging out in old people houses. I think a life-size Elvis qualifies for one of those things. They think they are soooo funny.

So as you can see, the hunt for the digital camera software has finally proven itself to be fruitful. It only took since Christmas. That CD apparently had keen survival skills. But lo, it has succumbed to the horror that is... my foot.

Some of you may recall the story of this picture. I won't bore you with all the details all over again, just the Cliffs Notes. See, I was working at a warehouse, where we all stood in one spot all day and weren't allowed to move around or sit. (Yes, it did bear a striking resemblance to a Russian prison. Thanks for asking!)

Every night, I would come home to very tired tootsies. One night I came home and promptly fell asleep during a Mariner's game. Naturally the folks found this to be too rude to let go unpunished. Hence, they started what I fear will be a lifelong habit now... foot smoking.

And they wonder how I managed to turn out this way. I tell you, my freakishness is ALL inherited. Every last bit.

9:01 pm - 08.22.02
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