Prezzies! Pretty much, everything I would give to you guys would come from Uncommon Goods, the This is Why I’m Broke blog, or Think Geek. Definitely, everyone is getting their very own desktop catapult. Catapultam habemus! Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam!
And, may I take a moment to comment on how utterly strange family is (and I include myself in this)?
When phoukabro major (Big Kango? What say you?) visits from LA, he takes my bedroom, and I move in with my mom, who has a king-sized bed. (The parents have separate bedrooms because their sleeping habits are so opposed, they would kill one another now that Dad’s too old for sex. [sub]I did not just say that about my parents.[/sub]). So pb major revels in the privacy of a room all his own, I do my best not to litter and shed belongings through my mom’s room, and she tries really hard not to kill me because I mess with her tidy and orderly universe.
That’s the normal part.
The strange part is that my toothbrush disappeared after the first night. Well, okay. It’s a crowded bathroom at the best of times, and I’d already dug out makeup I hadn’t worn in over a year and was prepping to henna my hair. It would have been very easy for my toothbrush to have been knocked off the counter and the puppy to have found it and made off with it (except, she would have paraded her kill through the house or ostentatiously snuck off to chew on it).
Then, this morning, after phoukabro major returned to LA, it reappeared. In my bedroom. On a plate with crumbs of cinnamon bun icing. I just . . . I don’t want to know. Toothbrush went in the trash, and I bought a new one this afternoon. I will not be asking my big brother for what purposes he kidnapped my toothbrush or why he felt I might want it back afterwards. I mean, seriously, if he’d been without toothbrush, we’d have gotten him one. If he’d needed a small brush to use (on a cinnamon bun?), I’d have dug through my neglected art supplies until I found one. (“Forget it, phouka. It’s family.”)
On my own part, early this morning, while sleeping next to my mom with the puppy between us, occupying 56% of all available bed, I dreamt that I and phoukabro minor had been deep in the kind of pointless, amicable argument we often enjoy, only he got more and more snarky and refused to argue according to the adopted Calvinball rules, so I finally yelled “SHUT UP!” at him.
And heard phoukamom mutter [sub]“sorry”[/sub].
I woke up just enough to realize that phoukamom had been snoring loudly, that my treacherous brain had interpreted the snoring into phoukabro minor’s snark, and that when I yelled “SHUT UP!” at him, my mom thought I was yelling at her about her snoring. Which, in a very strange meta sort of way, I was.
Oh, and my first day of being 40 was pretty damn good.
That is all.
