Michael Mixon's Journal

Of Lemon Wedges and Crotches
The wedge of lemon still awaits me in the fridge, safely swaddled in a ziploc baggie.

The dog is chilling his bones outside...I really should let them in, but then I'll need to endure their hyperactive love-mauls and frenetic running to and fro as they seek out something to lick (invariably me or some "private" region of themselves...it's so nice to know that I am as lick-worthy as their crotches.)

Speaking of crotches (and when don't we speak of crotches?), I overhead the following snippet of dialogue this afternoon while the girls were taking their bath:

Sydney: "Did you know that you are going to have hair on your crotch when you grow up?"
Darcy: "No."
Sydney: "Are you scared of hair on your crotch?"
Darcy: "No."
Sydney: "Did you know that all animals have hair on their crotch?"
Darcy: "Snakes don't."

I don't ever recall having such conversations with my sister. I would have been far too shy. It is quite possible that she may have attempted such dialogue with me, and it is quite possible that that was one of the many reasons why I chose to regularly beat her up. One must learn to keep younger sisters in line. I'll need to find the opportune moment to pass on my nuggets of wisdom to Sydney, although I am fairly sure that Jenee would not approve of what I would impart to her eldest daughter. I'll need to take it slowly. :-)

The garage calls out to me. It is currently a heaping junk yard of furniture, boxes and all sorts of other things that we have tossed out there as we make the inside of the house all nice and pretty. Slowly and methodically we're bringing bits back in -- tonight I need to apply some of the methodical re-organization of what remains so that we can find whatever it is that is due to come in next. I think I will grab my lemon wedge and have it accompany me.

Good night.

Advertisement