I'd like to hire a private investigator to follow my left elbow and see what it does all day long. This week I had to retire a dress shirt for an annoying problem, and this is probably the seventh time this has happened over the past year:
Each shirt developed a small (but rapidly growing) hole in the exact same spot on the left sleeve. Suddenly I've become very self-conscious about what I do with my left elbow, even while I'm sitting here typing this.
My brave seven-year-old daughter needs to have a tooth pulled. She was very worried about this until she saw the pediatric dentist's tooth-pulling accommodations and learned that she'll be asleep during the procedure and can even wear her pajamas if that makes her more comfortable.
We've been trying to teach her the 12 Fruits of the Holy Spirit. The other day she said she wanted to learn self control because it sounded easy. I told her that self control is like when there's a whole plate of delicious cookies in front of you, but you only eat one even though you wish you could eat them all. Then she said, "I don't want to learn self control now that I know what it means!" [Keep reading, I'll have another funny line from her later. Of course, that's a blogger's way of saying that I wrote things out of order and didn't feel like going back to fix it.]
Our home is now in good hands. No, this is not an Allstate commercial. We had one of the priests at our church come over and bless our house on Saturday. When he was done we tried to get a photo of him with our kids, but the baby was not too pleased. And before you ask: Richard Karn from Home Improvement did not become a priest.
Since I didn't get to post a picture of our completed patio expansion project last week, I saved a spot for it here. And now I'll be saving another spot for it next week. This week's delay was due to wintry weather. So now the concrete is scheduled to be poured next week if there aren't any earthquakes, volcanic eruptions or locusts.
It's well documented that as an introvert, I don't like getting my hair cut out of fear that the person cutting my hair will force a lot of conversation on me when I'm a captive audience. But this week I had an amazing and almost miraculous experience at the local quicky haircut place. The employee and I exchanged our polite greetings, talked about how I wanted it cut, and then she pretty much never said another word to me until she was done. That's my kind of haircut!
Now, back to my daughter. She washed her hands, came out of the bathroom and said, "I wish the walls were made out of towel so I could dry my hands on the wall." Interesting idea. But I like mine better: I wish my shirt were made out of towel so I could justify drying my hands on my shirt.
For more Quick Takes, visit Conversion Diary.