This morning at the Dan and Whit's I bought three huge bags of candy. Now I'm ready for my first adult Halloween ever. Of course, I'll probably just stick the candy in a bowl on the front walk, turn on an outside light, hide upstairs and study. With a costume on, don't get me wrong.
Saturday night Ten and I are going to Brattleboro, home of Vermont's strongest and proudest nudist movement, to meet Gollywobbler and her new girlfriend, who just happens to be a physician, for dinner. (God, I love commas.) I can't wait to pass judgment on Dr. New. Neither can Ten.
A week from tomorrow I am going to New Orleans for my grandparents' 80th birthday party. I'm looking forward to seeing my parents and brother. Also sharing a bathroom with them, since the house is being worked on. (Since on the house is being worked?)
I'm 24 and Ten is now 30. This rocks. She is old. Gray. Wrinkled. Wears a shawl. And she must also be getting senile because yesterday we had this conversation:
Ten: Achoo, sniff, sniff, achoo, cough, sniff.
EFC: Did you say something?
Ten: I hab a cold, EnubFibCookies.
EFC: I'm too tired to be sympathetic. And my name isn't EnubFibCookies.
Ten: Yes it is. E-n-u-b-f-i-b-c-o-o-k-y-s.
Without ruining my bloganymity, you can imagine what an errantly placed "y" can do to my (real) name. Also my mood. I asked Ten if she was joking about the misspelling. She laughed nervously.
It's been 1 year 8 months and 7 days. I don't think it's unreasonable for me to expect my name to be spelled correctly at this stage in the game. If Ten can prove to me that she has a DMS-IV diagnosable learning disability, I will start talking to her again. (Probably.) But first she's going to have to cut out all that hacking and sneezing.