August 11, 2008
Toe vs. Ass: The Age-Old Debate
To be a diva, one must know how to make a fabulous entrance. I, however, am a diva of a different sort. I enjoy a show-stopping exit. In short, I know how to clear a room, and I don't even need to use flatulance.
Some of my family were here Saturday night, saying their final farewells to my Norwegian cousins, who had been staying in the Chicago area for three weeks. They returned to Oslo yesterday evening. And you know, I'm quite disappointed that they didn't inspire any good blogs, but they're so cool, I just can't find anything to mock them about.
Anyhoo, we were sitting in the kitchen -- me, Husband, Mom, Dad, Spikette, Nephew, Ivar, Per and Mai. Stella and Daisy were underfoot, also, because Stella is madly in love with Per, and Daisy was hoping there'd be food.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Stella was licking my Dad's toes. He was wearing sandals. He was also wearing a short-sleeved, button-up shirt over his wife-beater. This proves that my cousins rate WAAAAAAAAAY higher than the rest of us because Dad's usual uniform is as follows: wife-beater, armpit hair, Levi's that somehow stay up desite his complete lack of buttocks, 25-year old loafers that are largely held together with duct tape.
When my Dad dresses up for holidays, he wears a polo shirt without a stain on it. When he dies, we're going to have to go shopping because nothing he currently owns is fit to wear in a coffin. My mother often complains because Dad doesn't like to go out and do things, but I can understand his reluctance. It hurts getting pelted with all that change.
So where were we? Ah, yes -- Stella was licking my Dad's toes. Have you ever seen 74-year old toenails? They're not pretty. Yellow, thick, ridged, UCK. And my sweet, adorable, angel-puppy was licking them!!! With enthusiasm!!!
You now know the meaning of the word: ABOMINATION.
I started freaking out, "Oh my God, Stella, what are you doing?! Don't lick Grandpa's toes! Lookit them! They can't possibly taste good! They're old-man-toes, for God's sake! What are you thinking?!"
Ever the annoyingly-calm foil to my great diva dramatics, Husband tried to give me some perspective, "Honey, she licks her butt."
I pointed to the black dog and loudly said, "I would rather lick Stella's butt," I pointed to Dad's feet, "Than that man's toes!"
The party broke-up immediately upon my announcement.
Can't think why.