A lovely treat was given to me by Carmen of My Three Sons. She found me by clicking the next blog button and felt I deserved a candy apple treat. Thank you Carmen! I agree, we have quite a bit in common.
This was started by Hootin' Anni and the idea is to send this treat to a blogger you don't know who you think deserves a treat. I was lucky enough to have the blogger I'm treating find me. Which is a good thing because when I tried to click next blog, all I got was nude people. Eh.
Marmee of Marmee's Moonlit Meadow and her eight children are the recipients of the candy apple treats today. Marmee left me a very nice comment and I have added her as well as her brilliant daughter Ashley to my blogroll. I'm very pleased to make their acquaintance.
Ok, now I have to tell a story on myself. I had to laugh when I read Carmen's note about the gift, because I have a very bad memory of a cold October evening at our old house in St. Louis. Hubby and I were sound asleep when my pug dog, Fiona, decided 3 in the morning was the best time to go outside and potty. I drug myself out of bed (which if you know me, you are already shocked since I sleep like the dead) and opened the front door to let her out. We had a storm door and I opened that ever so slightly to allow Fi to squeeze through and go into the yard.
She stopped short for some reason and in my barely awake state, I opened the door wider cringing at the rush of cold air. During my mumbled curses over the dog not going out, I was stepping onto the freezing cold concrete porch thinking she needed to be reminded how to walk through a doorway. Then my foot hit it.
I screamed. I mean really screamed. In one motion I grabbed the dog and slammed the door and called out to Hubby or God or whomever might be willing to save me from certain death right then and there. Hubby answered my pleas and when he opened the door, a moment passed in my life that would eclipse all the other really stupid things I have done (loads of 'em).
This moment still haunts me. Even as I type, I am emotionally and physically alternating between the unforgotten adrenaline rush of terror and the shame, yes shame, of Hubby reaching down (!) and picking up a brown lunch bag filled with candy and a note saying we had been "Booed" by a neighbor and to pass it on.
Ahem. I am sure the sweet kids that wanted to "Boo" the new neighbors never imagined we would not see the bag in daylight. Or be so silly as to think it was a bomb or decapitated head or something. I got so mad. I think more mad than I have ever been in my life ( which if you know me, you are shocked because I get real mad often). I am still a little mad. Why? Embarrassment mostly that I reacted so strongly to something so innocent in front of my husband whom I swore I would stick with for the rest of my life. Rest of my life people.
I go out the garage in this house.
Stay tuned for a complete pair of Pebble Beach Socks!