Maggie, my mother, and I were--for a reason lost to time--in the wild suburbs of Boston. Okay, we were somewhere between Boston and New Hampshire. I was starving. No one else was particularly hungry. We drive by a Thai place. I suggested we pull in and we did. As we walk up, my grandmother gets all moody.
"I don't like thigh food."
So now we have a law in the family, if you can't pronounce it, you can't make decisions about where we eat. (Don't worry about the old lady, there were special provisions at the restaurant--they also served Chinese food and somehow she ended up with fried chicken. Go figure.)
Phew. The dude and I did our Christmas shopping in two hours yesterday. He doesn't like to give people only something I've made, not because the things I make suck, but rather because it seems like a gift from me alone. (I keep telling him I'm spending his money on supplies, but he isn't buying it.) So even though these are the "from him" part of the gift, he likes to have my input. Frankly, I should stop making gifts period. I think it's costing us too much. Though I should be happy that he hates shopping so much we can get the whole job banged out in 120 minutes. I did abandon the idea of making gifts for two of my nephews. Their mother refuses to tell me what they are into, so they get what they get. This year it's Blokus for one and Amazing Cows with a stuffed cow for the other. I am down to eight more presents and four of them should be done by tomorrow.
Forgive me for not visiting your blog this week. My hair is on fire.