Seven Things
Several people have tagged me on the Seven Things meme, in which I'm supposed to list seven notable things about myself. I think I might have done this one before.
But here's the thing.
I'm leaving for BlogHer in five days. In those five days, I have to do 4,286 loads of laundry, plan meals for my family while I'm gone, lose 25 pounds, buy at least one article of clothing that does not have an elastic waist, do something with this mop of hair on my head, endlessly fret over how this Dog Days giveaway is going to turn out, and get a tan (from a bottle, of course).
All of that rambling to say, my plate is full, so I will happily do a meme for the second time. If I tried to write something meaningful today, my head would explode.
So here we go.
1. I will only brush my teeth in hot water. They feel cleaner that way. I personally don't think this is odd, but my husband looks at me like I'm crazy every time I do it.
2. When my daughter's umbilical cord stump fell off, I couldn't bring myself just to throw it in the trash (no Tom Cruise jokes, please). Instead, I buried it in our flower bed next to Gilbert the hermit crab and a baby bird we once found in our backyard. We have quite a bizarre little cemetary going back there.
3. My big toes are very crooked. It used to bug me, but so many of my features have gone downhill in recent years that the toes no longer alarm me.
4. I've never finished one of William Faulkner's books. That's probably not weird, but it does really bug me about myself.
5. When I was in high school, I was a majorette, and I twirled a fire baton every year at homecoming. The worst part was not the flames leaping across my face and head, it was the fact that my mother wouldn't let me use hairspray, because it was (of course) flammable. Do you KNOW how hard it was for a girl to do a proper 1987 hairdo without hairspray? The burns healed, but the flat bangs? Oh, those scarred me for life.
6. I think a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich is the greatest comfort food known to man.
7. You know how when you order a fast-food drink, there are those little round plastic bumps on the lid that tell you if it's diet, or root beer, or the mysterious "other"? Well, if the button correctly identifying my drink has not been pressed down, I have to press it down myself before I can drink it. Probably because my life is so lacking in order that I crave it in the weirdest places. It's the little things, y'all.
If you want to play along, consider yourselves tagged.
a good one.
