Those who know me know that I'm not a fancy person. I wear garage sale clothes, furnish my home with garage sale finds, and am generally a "Secondhand Rose."
That's fine with me. When you're a fancy person, people expect things from you. They expect you to act right and talk right and just be right. I'd rather be fun.
My family doesn't always see the fun in me. Sometimes they think I'm just goofy. There was the time that I put a garage sale sticker for twenty-five cents on the back of Larry's (aka The Wretch) shirt which he wore around for an entire day before someone commented on it. There was the time that I put a kitchen spatula (yes, I know what a spatula looks like) in the hood of my niece's jacket, which she carried around, unknowingly, for a day. Then there was the time I stuffed my bra with a large zucchini and said to my 87-year-old father, "Dad, do you notice that I've grown?" (He only shook his head in bemusement.)
As I re-read the last paragraph, I realize that I really am goofy. Oh, well. That's what happens when you are out of estrogen.
Gem for the day: forget about being right. It's a lot more fun to be goofy.
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