Because I was so tired from being on my feet for so long today I made grilled ham and cheese sandwiches for dinner. One I made with mayo--Phil's. One with Miracle Whip--mine. But I forgot which was which.
"You'll have to taste each of these," I told Phil. "And then tell me which one is mine."
He sniffed them.
"You can't tell that way, just have a bite of each."
"This is yours," he said, handing me the sandwich at his plate.
I looked at it. It didn't have a bite out of it. I furrowed my brow.
"Aum," he said, with a sheepish grin, "I licked your bread."
And now, because I actually feel Old and Moldy I am going to sit in the old-folks-recliner with the new afghan my friend Judy gave me and have a snooze so I can read blogs way into the night and avoid writing my book.
But, DeAnn, you better be WRITING YOURS! And I hear Her Excellency of Mousehole is doing some writing, too. Yes!