We sat outside with three church talks, thinking we would have an intellectual Family Home Evening. We had hardly settled when four neighbors came over and were in the middle of Mrs. Bird's funny story about her chiropractor when who should happen by but The Scottish Dreamer. We sat and visited and laughed until the darkness descended, as did the mosquito's.
Zip, zop, people scattered except for the Scottish Dreamer and me. The skeeters soon left us alone--after I rolled a couple into cigars off my face and the others decided hunger was better than death.
The Scottish Dreamer and I had a good talk. What a lovely girl she is. I sent her home with books to read on health and she said, "Can I eat that last eclair first?" (If you haven't done it already you must read this post.) I told her yes, as I certainly have not been the shining example of health or sugar-avoidance. When I looked at the clock it was 11:00. Are we gabbers or what?
Sitting here at the computer, doing nothing of importance, I felt around on what should be my smooth chin and I felt a
*It wasn't really my corn. I got a phone call from a worried sister in our ward so I covered the mouthpiece on the phone and whispered, "eat my corn," which was really his corn to begin with because I