I know I've been neglecting this little ole blog of late, and I don't know if anyone is still even reading. I apologize for that, and I will say that I've been doing some soul searching about whether or not I'm going to continue this little venture.
But.... for the time being I thought I'd share a deep dark secret with you.
I love Easy Cheese. There. Now I've said it. Yep. I love cheese from a can. I know it's disgusting. I know it's a horrifying color. I know that I shouldn't, but I do.
And I'm not alone. One Thanksgiving not so long ago a certain male sibling who shall remain nameless and I went through two cans and an entire bunch of celery BEFORE we even sat down to dinner. If only his wife had been home to stop us. She could have saved each of us a lot of heartache a huge stomach ache.
Whew! I feel so much lighter now that I've gotten that off my chest.
Don't get me wrong, as a kid I appreciated the free candy and all that, but the costumes.... never have been my thing.
Probably because they weren't my mom's thing either. We have some great pictures of my sisters as "Indians" wearing white garbage bags and my costume at age two when I wanted to be a "pretty lady" and ended up looking like Mrs. Robinson from The Graduate.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming my mom for this. I understand her. Do I ever understand her. Every year when this holiday comes around I am reminded of my lack of creativity as far as costumes are concerned. Last year I went as "Your Auntie". My nieces weren't impressed. Another year I went to school as "Miss L-" with a sash and tiara. My students thought it sucked. Sigh.
My sister is a Halloween goddess. I'm not kidding. She spends countless hours tracking down, sewing, glueing, paper machie-ing, painting,.... costumes for her five children, and she ACTUALLY ENJOYS IT. If you want to see what I mean, check this out.
If my own child bearing dreams had been realized I'd be living down the street from my fabulous costume maker of a sister and every year my sad little indians and menopausal adulteresses would have to trick or treat with her Greek Hopelight Warriors and we all know they'd die a little inside just for having me as a mother.
Maybe that's why this commercial speaks to me so deeply:
