Took the kids over the weekend to see the new *gasp* animated Disney film… Dinner, tickets, and snacks for 5 (three of which are children-like creatures) ended up costing just under a hundred bucks.

There is something just plain wrong with that.

[Flash to evil corporate meisters bah humbugging into their triple espressos while climbing up step-ladders  into their pretty monster cars.]

While there, The Baby tripped over her own feet and fell on her face in front of god and sundry.

Unfortunately, I’m afraid that she gets her grace from me.

But, then again, I’m more afraid that she gets her eyebrows from her daddy…

So she’ll still love me more.

And that’s what counts.

In other holiday news…

I haven’t mailed out our Christmas cards… Of course, I haven’t. To expect me to do something like that in a timely fashion is just plain silly. I have a nice pile of cards just sitting in the van awaiting a no doubt traumatic ride through the postal system.

To defer their suffering and save some face, I’ve come to the conclusion that having them delivered after Christmas is quirky.

And I’m at least quirky, right?

But I did finish up the majority of my shopping last night. (For things that I didn’t order online for whatever reason, I plan a last minute 2am run to the Wal-Mart every year in order to avoid both the crowds and the inevitable smell that comes along with them.) While there, I somehow ended up having a 30 minute conversation with a drunk lady about:

• her teenager’s shopping list
• their ages, their attitudes, their boyfriend/girlfriend’s names, how much they weighed at birth, and the color of the walls in their rooms
• her sister’s weight at birth (she was delivered at 7 months and weighed 4 and some odd pounds)
• the better wrapping paper
• the better cream cheese
• the fact that her husband buys the wrong cream cheese
• her choice of perfume
• her daughter’s choice of perfume
• her aunt’s best friend’s choice of perfume
• green beans
• The Saints
• the fact that she once lost $200 in a slot machine with a mermaid on it

This was all done in the check-out lane at four in the morning… amongst the two open cashiers (both on those little half-lanes that don’t have a belt)  and the sixteen other people who thought themselves as brilliant in planning as I. Or did I think myself as brilliant as they? Or…  nevermind.

My brain is obviously a big puddle of peppermint hershey kisses.

Just like that bulge in my stomach.

And that taste at the back of my throat offering up a clear warning of what will happen if I eat one more.

Which I will, of course.

Because I’m clearly an ungraceful, procrastinating, looks like she wants to hear your life story stuttered over a cloud of berry-whatever Arbor Mist in the checkout lane, hershey-kiss-eating FREAK.

With good eyebrows.

Who is currently off to yack up that last kiss.

(I simply hope that, like ice cream, peppermint isn’t too terrible coming back up.)