Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Dear Madame Zoltar
Sometimes Señor Zanza can't seem to understand my fatigue. He, of course, is tireless. I just want him to know that I love him, but I need more sleep and rest than he does. And certainly more than Junior. He's the only one I know who can tire/stress Señor Zanza. All kids are that way, from the moment they learn to crawl. They'll go at a breakneck speed, and then suddenly fall asleep. Sometimes for near a whole day. And then back up, doing a million things at once. And eating. Always eating. I and/or Señor Zanza seem to spend a lot of time at the supermarket, shopping for food for Junior.
Those two have a vegetable garden out back and I'm currently swamped with tomatoes. But if Junior had to live off of what he grew, he'd starve. Really, it's a matter of inattention. If Señor Zanza didn't do the bulk of the work, that garden would've shriveled up long ago. Is Junior ADD or ADHD or whatever the damn they're calling it now, or is he just a normal teenager? I'd take him to a psychiatrist, but they grab onto clients. If you're visiting a psychiatrist, you are, by definition, mentally ill. I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll ask one of my psychic friends to do a reading of Junior for us. I'd be interested in what they'd have to say about him.
The hot item this week is no lying or swearing. I have no idea if who or how this got started. The least successful and most onerous method, is what Opie was hoping for: Milwaukee beer. Good luck.
Thank you all for taking the time to read my blog today. I love attention from readers who think they have everything worked out. Read on.
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"My underwear size is X-large and it's white. How about a dozen eggs for that?"