I Can Play that Game. Better.

They don't play fair. The conspire and manipulate and work together to make me into the bad guy. All. the. time. The Miley Cyrus CD was just a drop in the ocean that is my life.

We were dashing through Wal-Mart on a quest to grab the kinds of odds and ends that can only be acquired while passing entirely too close to the hellmouth that is that store. (And shoosh with your "why go there?" hullaballoo. Until Target opens its ears and hears my desperate pleas for a SuperTarget in Pittsburgh, I'm going to be stuck with Wal-Mart for those late night random stuff shopping trips.) While I was trying to find the right color of taper candles, Mr. Husband and Alexis wandered back to electronics. Of course. They ALWAYS wander back to electronics.

Just as I started to make some progress, Mr. Husband tried to get my attention so he could show me a cheap laptop. Mine is currently playing Taps really loud, threatening to suck all my data and photos into a giant black hole, and my options for detouring around that black hole are to spend several hundred dollars for repairs or to buy a new laptop. I'm thinking a new laptop sounds fun, but the old budget is sucking all the joy out of both options. Anyway, as I rounded the corner towards the laptops, he pointed down to the giant display of Miley Cyrus CDs. I rolled my eyes, called him a name, and walked back to the candle area.

Apparently, in some languages, "Whatever, dork," closely resembles a permission slip.

Next thing I knew, there was a short person running down the aisle towards me, her eyes glittering with joy, her little behind shooting out rainbows and unicorns and just absolute glee. In her hands Alexis held The Miley Cyrus CD. As she drew closer, she practically tripped over her happiness and quickly said, "Daddy said I have to ask you if I can have Hannah Montana CD. PLEEEEEEASE?"

How do you say no when your kid has unicorns shooting out of her butt? YOU DON'T.

So, yeah, I kinda sorta gave permission for the CD to be purchased, but it was a setup. A sting. A covert operation. THEY DON'T PLAY FAIR.

I hate that I'm always the bad guy. HATE.

So, as payback, I slipped out to Wal-Mart late last night and purchased another CD. Jonas Brothers. Oh, yes I did. Then I spent 30 minutes telling Alexis that Jonas Brothers CD only works in Daddy's car. OH, YES I DID. The best part is that she believed me, so I can guarantee that there will be a whole lot of Jonas Brothers and their so-called singing going on in that Honda, but never in my car.



Border Patrol

There are approximately 8,724,236,246 toads living in our yard. This is one of the bigger ones. He/she is about the size of my fist and afraid of NOTHING. You can flash a camera at him, let a dog sniff him, and even stomp in his vicinity and he will not budge. Alexis, however, is deathly afraid of the silly little toad.

This is a good thing.

The toad lives under our front porch. Alexis won't go outside if I tell her I saw it out there. It's like having bars on the windows and doors, except I didn't have to spend a single penny. With a whole lot of luck, the Toad Trick will last for about 15 more years.


Please Send Aspirin. And Earplugs. And Maybe Narcotics.