I thought it might be fun to do a little reminiscing during my last few days of the decade I'll forever refer to as my 30's.
Sigh.
I'm not sad to say goodbye to my 30's. We had some good times. We had some not so good times. But, before I stick my toes on the edge of 40, I wanted to recall a few memories.
Last night at dinner, Art was very happy to accommodate my little venture down memory lane by reminding me of something that we'll call the warthog debacle.
Mercy.
Did you know that the ears of the warthog must slightly resemble the smell of doggie bacon treats? I know. I didn't either.
Let me back up. See, Art loves him some hunting. Oh yes he does. So, a few years ago he trotted off to Africa to hunt wild beasts with a bow and arrow. We won't go into my attempt to support him by going to the Walmart and buying him a red plastic bow and arrow set for $19.99.
The laughter and teasing I've taken over that little mishap is a story for another day.
Anyhoo.
So, he goes to Africa, gets an award for the Warthog he procures, has it mounted, and sent to my house with the intention of hanging it in our living room. Excuse me? On my wall? For all the world to see? A hairy, scary, thing with tusks and fake eyeballs?
Mercy.
I knew it would take some prayer time to enable me to swallow this idea without choking.
So, in the meantime, I placed the warthog on the floor of my bonus room- in a corner- under a blanket. Y'all the thing scared me, ok?
Well, one not so fine day, my dog Champ got to sniffing and discovered the under the blanket creature. Delight must have snuck up and activated his drooling glands because y'all...
...hold on for a moment of silence.
Champ chewed off the ear of the PRIZE warthog.
Panic seized my heart, "Oh my stars, how in the world are we going to fix this before Dad gets home? It's not like you can go down to the Walmart, buy a replacement warthog ear, and super glue that bad boy back in place!"
When Art got home and I broke the news, he calmly went over to champ and twirled Champ's ear between his fingers. He then smiled a sad little smile and said, "Well, I guess I'll start checking e-bay for warthog ears."
If ever there was a statement that solidified our family's redneck status that just might be it.
Not to mention the fact that a few weeks later, a dry ice package arrived smelling strangely like bacon flavored doggy treats.
Yes, ma'am. So, I'll be welcoming my 40's not with a prized fake oil painting hanging on my wall. But rather a repaired Warthog and the story behind his new beautiful ear. Maybe I'll get him a little clip on earring and see how long it takes Art to notice.
Smiles!
Sigh.
I'm not sad to say goodbye to my 30's. We had some good times. We had some not so good times. But, before I stick my toes on the edge of 40, I wanted to recall a few memories.
Last night at dinner, Art was very happy to accommodate my little venture down memory lane by reminding me of something that we'll call the warthog debacle.
Mercy.
Did you know that the ears of the warthog must slightly resemble the smell of doggie bacon treats? I know. I didn't either.
Let me back up. See, Art loves him some hunting. Oh yes he does. So, a few years ago he trotted off to Africa to hunt wild beasts with a bow and arrow. We won't go into my attempt to support him by going to the Walmart and buying him a red plastic bow and arrow set for $19.99.
The laughter and teasing I've taken over that little mishap is a story for another day.
Anyhoo.
So, he goes to Africa, gets an award for the Warthog he procures, has it mounted, and sent to my house with the intention of hanging it in our living room. Excuse me? On my wall? For all the world to see? A hairy, scary, thing with tusks and fake eyeballs?
Mercy.
I knew it would take some prayer time to enable me to swallow this idea without choking.
So, in the meantime, I placed the warthog on the floor of my bonus room- in a corner- under a blanket. Y'all the thing scared me, ok?
Well, one not so fine day, my dog Champ got to sniffing and discovered the under the blanket creature. Delight must have snuck up and activated his drooling glands because y'all...
...hold on for a moment of silence.
Champ chewed off the ear of the PRIZE warthog.
Panic seized my heart, "Oh my stars, how in the world are we going to fix this before Dad gets home? It's not like you can go down to the Walmart, buy a replacement warthog ear, and super glue that bad boy back in place!"
When Art got home and I broke the news, he calmly went over to champ and twirled Champ's ear between his fingers. He then smiled a sad little smile and said, "Well, I guess I'll start checking e-bay for warthog ears."
If ever there was a statement that solidified our family's redneck status that just might be it.
Not to mention the fact that a few weeks later, a dry ice package arrived smelling strangely like bacon flavored doggy treats.
Yes, ma'am. So, I'll be welcoming my 40's not with a prized fake oil painting hanging on my wall. But rather a repaired Warthog and the story behind his new beautiful ear. Maybe I'll get him a little clip on earring and see how long it takes Art to notice.
Smiles!
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