Genes

You know, if you're a parent, you look to see yourself and your honey in your kids. Whos' eye color did they get? Can they hold a wrench? Play an instrument? Are they really good people, like their Dad? Do they have their Grammas eyes? Grandpas' weird little finger? My brothers' hair? We have had great pleasure over the years identifying who the kids got what from. BUT....last night, I discovered a gene I didn't know existed. The "Spittin-Fridge" gene. I indeed am a carrier of that gene. You have read here about how my refrigerator balks me. It laughs in my face, and attacks me at the very first sign that I am not paying attention. It spits things out at me that have NO business being spit out of a fridge, and it broke it's own shelf to dump a turkey and a ham on my pretty pink-slippered feet. Remember the Teriyaki? I can still smell that stuff in my dreams, and I think the shock of THAT bomb going off killed the water cooler, I really do. So, although it was a shock, I should have expected it. Last night, dinner-time. Steve and I were at the dining room table. I forgot the shredded cheddar for the potatoes, and asked Tony to grab it from the fridge. He opened the door, and I SWEAR, a bottle of mayo jumped STRAIGHT out of the fridge and hit him in the belly. It happened so fast he had no time to react, and it was one of the funniest things I ever saw....... Attack of the Hellmanns, When Hellmanns goes Bad, but then it struck me. The fridge recognized Tony as mine, and treats him the same way it treats me. The "Spittin-Fridge" gene, THAT is what I passed on to Tony. There's a lil twist to his fridge gene though.The fridge door has adjustable bins on it, and a least once a week, when Tony opens the door, the whole bottom bin jumps off the door onto the floor, condiments fly everywhere. The Teriyaki attacks me, the Soy Sauce attacks Tony. That's my boy.

January 24th:

-National Snow Plow/Mailbox Hockey Day

~Never look at the trombones. You'll only encourage them. - Robert Strauss on conducting