Everyone's a critic. I've been called "old and moldy," and I've been "bless your heart'd." TWICE in as many days. (We all know what THAT means.) And I've been told to call some of my children and their excellent spouses excellent. "Excellent." There, how's that? And I've been told my word choices makes one of my children want to embalm something. What does that mean, and are my children demented?
So, I'm not blogging tonight because, one, I can't think of anything and, B., I obviously have a wee brain morsel. I'm taking the wee brain morsel to bed and without a "personal history" story ready for tomorrow, either.
That's what old and moldy people do. Nothing.
Oh, wait. They mold. In an old sort of way. Bless my heart.