So what happens when you’re sick and you’re not thinking straight and you’re at your mom’s house (and thank God your mom loves you very much) and you decide you’re going to pour some Airborne effervescent vitamin powder in your seltzer water? A glorious orange effervescent volcano!!! And while you’re trying frantically to get the cap back on the water bottle, it’s spewing it’s sweet, sticky volcanic “lava” in every direction possible, leaking onto the table, then over the edge of the table, and eventually onto your mom’s very nice area rug in large amounts. Once you finally get the cap on and tightened, the pressure continues to build and fortunately, you’ve done this in a very thick plastic bottle so that no further “casualties” are had…yet. Because you haven’t told your mom. Yet. You’re trying to mop up the brilliant orange effervescent “lava” from the tabletop, off your Scriptures that were sitting on top of the table, off of, well, everything on the table…and then there’s the rug. Oh, yes, the rug and it’s wonderful “lava” coloration in the shape of Mickey Mouse’s head. About that time, your mom comes out and you ask for help. Mom’s first response is, “HOW OLD ARE YOU???” Her later comment on said response is about 12 years old, going on 13…maybe. So there’s your mom on her hands and knees scrubbing on her rug after cleaning up the table so that it doesn’t soak into the carpet underneath the rug, yet the brilliant orange “lava” color remains… “Oh, you’re going to hear about this for a looong time,” she says as you issue your 100th or so apology in the span of three minutes. You finally tell your mom you love her about 30 minutes after said incident and she says, “I love you, too. It’s a good thing I love you.” One more apology can’t hurt, so you say you’re sorry again and blog about the fact that you’re actually 38 years old, almost 39…maybe.
Content Rating PG, for the most part
I try to keep the content of my posts in the PG range (meaning that maybe your 13-year-old should not read it... Just kidding!) - you know, something I could get away with tastefully in the town square without getting lynched, tarred-and-feathered, or hung (and something my mother would NOT wash my mouth out with soap for). As far as what age you have to be to understand some of the subtleties of my humor in writing and/or speaking, well... That may vary. A lot.