Tuesday, August 12, 2008
So my mom refuses to share this store leaving it to me to be the keeper of family legend and lore.
We were organizing my grandmother's house together yesterday and had gotten to Christmas decorations. My grandmother had no shortage of Christmas decorations. For several years, she was into white birds on her tree. Amongst the white birds we find a white partridge with one of those clip things so you can attach it to the Christmas tree limb.
It takes my mom and I about four hours at any given task together to get stupid. Once looking for prom dresses we ended up on the Lodge and couldn't get off and decided that it was originally called the Beaver Lodge. At this point we couldn't find the exit for laughter and snots. My mom was yelling, "Shut up and help me find an exit!" while I'm saying, "It kind of looks like a beaver dug it out anyway."
My son Mac has the same gene. Shopping for home goods he started up with some ridiculous story about meeting the pope who told mac, "Call me Popey" and then gave him five dollars. This made my sister pee her pants right there in Sak's Fifth Avenue.
Many years ago there was a bird in my parents' basement and the Mr., who was at that time the boyfriend, walks past us with a Dorrito on his shoulder, his plan being that the bird would land on his shoulder to eat the Dorrito and he'd simply walk it out.
You see how it goes.
So my mom and I find this clippy white partridge and she puts it in her hair, of course.
Then we notice the junk man driving by and she decides that he could pick up the stove if we catch him. You see where this is headed. She ran outside to call him in and proceeded to have a lengthy discussion with him about the stove and some other items we'd like removed. With the partridge in her hair.
I called her attention to it about fifteen minutes after he left.