My Dad has some crazy sayings. My sister Lysa, fellow blogger, highlighted a few here:
This one in particular, “Your ass is grass and I have a lawn mower.” Translated: You are in deep cha cha.
We had moved to a new area, I changed schools and quite honestly, as the youngest of five, I was well educated in teenage shenanigans. My parents went to see family in upstate New York. I was to get on the train after school and head to DC to stay with my sister, Megan. 17-year old assessment of situation. An open house to myself, friends that could buy beer, no parental guidance …TGIGF!
Partying like its 1989, about 40 people smelling like teen spirit and some Paula Abdul blaring in the townhouse, I decide to head out with a friend to another party.
It’s raining out, I selected to take my Mom’s 1984 Monte Carlo slapstick shifter (ok, not really, Honda accord 5-speed) and leave my pen unattended with a keg party in full gear…
On a back road, possibly going too fast, not quite experienced on downshifting prior to a 90-degree turn, I don’t quite make the turn but maneuver the car, oh so gently, over a broken telephone pole and practically slice the car down the middle stopping with the pole out the trunk.
No injuries… friend’s Mom picks me up…her daughter at my house partying …I spend night in quiet home …drunk sleepover at my house…my Mom calls house (mother’s intuition)…girls answer thinking it’s me…Liz Burns about to go postal…girls hang up…Mom calls back…girls hang up…Dad calls back..girls hang up…I return…answer phone…Mom says she is coming home…I get immediate ride to the train station…arrive in DC…whoop it up for the last night of freedom.
Thankfully, the only grass I need to deal with this weekend is on the bottom of the Easter baskets for my three, sweet bunnies. A Bobism to remember, you breed ‘em, you feed ‘em. I guess that includes peeps and chocolate rabbits.