That little ass-wipe is still there. Well don't blame me it's blogger fault. Okay not really, I thought I was being cleaver, but now it biting me in the arse!
I was doing a little thinking today..don't look so surprised! I haven't put out a blog with any content in quite awhile, maybe never..but I have tried. Summer is a bummer, I just want to be outside sitting on the deck, playing with the pup, and mucking about with my pond. I think everyone knows what I mean. I'm not the kinda person that can stay up late to blog, because I gotta get up for work the next day, so I just put out a little crap at a time. And I will put somemore crap out again.
So, I thought tonight whilst I had a few moments I would take you back in time. Picture it...1887 This was the year I was born. Yes, I am that old. I married Gord in 1905, because it was proper in those days to put the "she" childs out for marryin' young. I didn't mind cause he was a mighty good looking manchild. I had me doubts..yes..because I didn't want to give up my father's name. In marryin' him, that would be expected of me. I tossed and turned over that one, until my daddy tole me one day, "girl"...don't give it a thought, your momma took my name and you should do the same. I replied "Father"..no frikkin way, I want my old name. I tossed my pigtails in the air and stamped my pretty little feets. He said "girl" you have to do what tradition dictates...or I won't pay for your wedding!!
Okay. nevermind then. pheww that was close.
So, in the autumn of 1905 I married my sweetheart Gord. It was a traditional Mennonite wedding (except we had booze and we danced). Wedding guests came from far and wide to bless these nuptials. Gord's side of the family pulled up in a spiffy new buggy, with a horse the size of Godzilla pulling it. They were know to be a little showoff's.
Shut-up, this is a true story.
After the ceremony and all the Ido's had been said, we had a gigantic pig roast. Men, opened up there flasks of home-brew and the women set out to get the feast ready.
Once everyone was fed, and the horses watered, all the men had fallen down drunk. Drunk as skunks I tells you. This was the time everyone looked forward too, all the women folk would form a circle around the drunken skunks, holding hands and singing old Joan Baez songs. As the circle moved in closer to the drunken men, the women would spit on them. Once the spitting was finished they would move in even closer and start chanting...WE ARE MAD AS HELL AND WE WON'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.
I shit you not.
Before the women got any closer, and louder, the town constable would move in and try to calm them down. They spit on him too. Then it was my turn to move in the circle of the drunken men. I found Gord in the heap, and removed hims trousers and called him a dirty rotten MF'r. I then took his pants and threw them up a tree for good luck! And we lived happily ever after.
You see the moral of this story is: If you find your husband drunk, throw his pants in a tree. It's been a tried and true recipe for a good and happy marriage.
Now, who spiked me drink?