We’ve all settled down here in our humble Bloggybirdery after yesterday’s big excitement. This little writer can only tap out a one-legged Happy Dance for so long. So it’s now back to my spot on the couch, screaming at today’s latest economic meltdown news on the television and wishing I could get to that nice box of wine in the garage refrigerator. Did I mention it’s only 10:00 a.m.?
Yeah, we’re pretty much back to normal today. Dan’s back to practicing his putting. Wilson’s back to trotting through the house with a contraband sock hanging from the side of his mouth, laughing NEENER, NEENER at me because I can’t give chase. Scarlett is back to snoozing under the table. And I’m back to writing about how we ended up with Br’er Rabbit tricksters begging us to PLEASE not throw them into their familiar briar patch of economic foolery. The Br’er Rabbit stories may have originated in Cherokee myth, but today’s problems are certainly real. Writing at least keeps me quiet for whole minutes at a time.
Dan: What’cha doing? You’re so quiet.
Me: Nothing. I didn’t do anything. Why are you asking?
Dan: Because you look furtive.
Me: Don’t be using big words on me, mister. Don’t you know there are kids out there working hard to pay for college and you’re using all their big words before they even get there?
Dan: Okay, you look … um, surreptitious.
Me: Big word. BIG. WORD.
Dan: You’re changing the subject.
Me: Yup. Yup. And I’m pretty good at it, huh? Hey, where you going? Don’t you want to watch me looking guilty some more?
Dan: Nope. Nope.
Gotta go. I think I hear Dan firing up the tar pot. Oh PLEASE don’t toss me in that Briar Patch!
P.S. I just listened to The Donald on television telling folks that he recently bought a $$$hundred million-something piece of property and he urges everyone to do the same. Thanks, The Donald. As soon as we scrape together enough couch change to fill up the old gas tank, we’ll get right on that.