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Monday, September 28, 2009


Can someone out there tell me how I'm supposed to know the difference between one of my (many) stuffed toys and oh, say, a black cashmere glove? They're all soft and furry, and believe me, they all taste the same. So how was I supposed to "know" that when Parental Unit dropped one of these so called gloves (mistakenly she claims) in my pile of toys laying on the floor, that I shouldn't run upstairs with it, stash it in my hiding place under the bed, and later chew it to shreds?
And... how was I supposed to know that Parental Unit had (I'm embarrassed to admit this) stalked these gloves for months at Saks Fifth Avenue, waited till they went on sale, then set her alarm to get up early on the day after Christmas to buy these gloves at 30% off their already marked down price?
Look who's calling who crazy? She wandered around for weeks muttering to herself that they were the only "elbow length" gloves she'd ever owned. Who does she think she is, Cinderella, that she need gloves up to her elbows? Something tells me she won't be going to a ball with a prince anytime soon. Hey, speaking of a ball...


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