A new billboard sign sighted on the way home: "Why bother Easter egg hunting in XXXX, when you can come to Bill Chapman cars hear." What does any of that mean? What does Easter egg hunting have to do with a used-car dealership? Nevermind the obvious homophone problem. I just can't wrap my head around it, and it certainly doesn't get me in the mood to go car shopping. However, I would think about it if they promise a zombie Jebus roaming the lot on Sunday.
A friend got little tiny baby chicks today. Fuzzy little lovelies that I want to rub all over my body. She's going to really enjoy how I am there every day completely ignoring her and making out with her sweet peepers. I will store them in my hair and abscond with them in to the night. I'll coo baby-bird words of worship.
So you know I'm not crazy:
The best part is she lives right down the road. This will make my nocturnal smuggling a lot easier. I am sure I have mentioned this friend in the past. She is one of The Boy's singers (not the one I crowed about in February, but I must have said something about her in December, but am too lazy to find the entry). Not only is she an awesome soprano, she doesn't mind discussing books with me. We don't hang out a lot (only a slight overlapping of friend groups), but when we do, it is always a pleasure. And, of course, hearing her sing makes me all frothy with jealousy. Now, I have to go from frothy to full-on foamy due to these little chickenz. Maybe they want to live in my pockets?
Now, who is going to get a goat for me to smother with kisses?
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