marching saints

i read the newspaper every morning. sit in bed next to my dog bitsey & sip my coffee. the crazy stuff in there blows my mind. 

did you know there was this man who lived with his mom in this teeny-tiny town, came home to find her dead of natural causes, then went around town with a rifle & killed 6 of his cousins? like the bates hotel meets american sniper or something...  

i also saw an article about the "brisket bandit " who loads his grocery basket full of beef in the HEB meat department while his old lady waits out front in a yellow, souped-up buick le sabre. there was also one about someone's jumbo meat-smoker being ripped-off.

wonder if anyone made the connection but me. 

i read the obits every morning, too. maybe it sounds backwards, but some of them make me feel happy -- like the ones where a woman lived to be 100 & her photo is of her at age 19. i really love those --  it's how they'll be remembered & i think that's nice. 

it's why i tuck them away inside my bedside drawer. when i look at them someday, let's just say that i look forward to remembering them when i do.

hey, maybe it's just me, but do you think it's weird when people put happy birthday messages to their deceased loved ones in the obits? as if that's where the person's going to be looking, or something?

you know those obits that are 9 miles long & take up 3 columns that include a huge list of the person's career & education accomplishments? the ones that list the prominent social clubs & country clubs a person belonged to always make me cringe. this might be odd, but it always goes through my mind how difficult & time-consuming they must've been to write, & i wonder who it was that wrote them.

lots of people write their own obits. i bet you've known someone like that. completely obsessed with it -- & i'm not saying that's a bad thing. they just want to leave a precise record of the important things they did while they were on earth. 

i wonder if right before they took their last breath, they'd scratch it all out & start over. to tell the things that were really important.

i remember when my father died. i drove down the highway as fast as i could. found my mother & my dad's sister sitting at the kitchen table working on his piece for the newspaper.

i gave it a look. very short. i remember thinking, that's all my dad's worth -- a short couple of paragraphs, when there's so much more to say about this man i worshipped?  i spoke up, & said, don't you want to put something in there about him that's personal? who answered, my mom or my aunt, i really can't recall, but, "people who really knew him already know those things," is what i heard.

i didn't like that answer much, but maybe when it's my time to bury my husband or my brother, God forbid, i'll have a different perspective than i did that day, i don't know, but i remember telling my mother something really important. something my dad had told me years & years before.

"what do you want your funeral to be like, daddy?" strange question, i guess, but i really wanted to know.

there was a friend of his who had one of those big, beautiful baritone voices. mike sargent, was his name. my dad said he wanted the man to sing, "when the saints go marching in."

i think that's really beautiful, don't you?

mr. sargent predeceased my dad, so, to close the service, the whole congregation belted it out  instead.

Oh when the Saints go marching in
When the Saints go marching in
O Lord, I want to be in that number
When the Saints go marching in

the organist was really getting into it -- cranking it up & adlibbing some jazzy riffs.

what an incredible send-off for my dad. zippy & upbeat. the tears became tears of joy.

if i know my dad, & i do, he was smiling. & laughing, too, i'll bet.

how in the world did i get off on all of that? i'm writing about the brisket bandit, & next thing you know, i'm writing about a funeral.

doesn't matter, i guess. but, if you want to steal my dad's idea, go right ahead.

me, i've already put in my order -- it's what i want my friends & family to be singing at mine.

TTFN    ta-ta for now.

feeding the dragon

the very moment three particular words came out of my mouth, i heard a noise.

two noises, really.

thunder.  & a crack of lightning, like the cackle of a scary, old witch.

a little dramatic, certainly. & they got my attention.

because the words i'd just spoken were serious words. they were a total "integrity statement."

but, i didn't say them on purpose. not really.

you see, the person i said them to -- he had something that I needed. & in order to get it, i had to... well, have you ever heard the expression, "feed the dragon?"

it's not a pleasant thing. it means you have to put up with something torturous from someone -- pander shamelessly, if necessary, all in the name of getting what you "need."

imagine the old star wars movie return of the  jedi. you saw it, right? the one with the character jabba the hutt -- the nasty, fat & slimy alien-monster who looks like a huge, greasy glob of dirt jello. if you saw the movie, you certainly remember jabba the hutt.

in the movie, he captures carrie fisher's character, princess leia & turns her into his slave girl, & makes her wear iron chains & a metal bikini? princess leia endures jabba the hutt's rank foulness, not to mention his putrid breath, when she could've actually wrapped her slave chains around his neck @ just the right moment & strangled him to death. but she didn't because she was waiting for the chance to save her lover-man, han solo.

uhm, hello... played by harrison ford? at least you remember his character from star wars, right?

okay - so, how did i feed the dragon in my situation? that's what you really want to know.

i had suffer through listening to MY jabba the hutt's story over lunch one day, as i smiled pleasantly, nails digging into my palms, because his story was all a load of horse manure.

when the waitress finally brought our food, it was down to business at last. but, not before he blithely said:

"i hope i can count on you to keep our conversation confidential."  translation: don't tell the person i'm talking about, even though she's one of your closest friends.

did i mention it was a STEAMING load of horse manure? &, if he was telling his story to me now, he had already told it to any & everyone who would listen.

with the squirmy sensation that i was heading straight to hell, i looked him in the eye & said these words:

"i don't rat."

hearing the roaring thunder & witchy thunderbolt, i reminded myself that telling him that rather than telling him off would allow me to still get what i needed, because i couldn't risk pissing him off.

plus, he was also paying for my lunch.

life takes finesse sometimes. a little smooth choreography to help things go our way.

the more i thought about it, i felt really used. like i was his garbage can or something. & besides, when princess leia had to feed the dragon, at least she got to look smokin' hot in that metal bikini while she did it.

i mean, truly -- did carrie fisher ever look better in her life?

i waited a few weeks before i told my friend what he'd said. i couldn't help myself, because she deserved to know. maybe i could've thought, what she doesn't know won't hurt her? no, because i didn't see it that way. it took far more integrity to tell the truth to my friend than to keep jabba the hutt's confidence.

but, let's be honest. a little part of me wanted to pay ol' jabba back for making me feed the dragon.

through her seething anger, my friend told me basically the same thing i told jabba -- "i don't rat." that she wouldn't tell him what she now knew that he'd said about her.

do you hear the thunder rumbling in the distance? & how the air smells like rain?

but she did tell him. & loose lips sink ships.

what just happened here, i wondered, as i was pulling myself out from under the bus.

it's called karma, baby.

my friend couldn't help herself. just like me.

but, that's not true.

i could help myself. every step along the way, i knew better. i knew it was possible that he would learn that i'd ratted him out to my friend.

maybe you remember what happens to jabba the hutt in the movie. oh, princess leia ends up choking him to death with those chains, all right. to big cheers from the audience. for my money -- it was the best scene from every stars wars movie combined.

i fed my jabba the hutt to get what i "needed" when i should've just said, "hey - i'm not listening to this," whether it pissed him off or not -- but that train had left the station.

so rather than lie to jabba about having told my friend what he had said -- it wasn't much fun. root-canal-fun, actually, but i owned it. because i had to be able to look at myself in the mirror again.

karma can be totally annoying. but it's also kind of comforting in a strange sort of way, knowing that it's ready to slap us silly when we need to learn a lesson. know what i mean?

& here's the lesson i learned:

I'm done feeding dragons.

TTFN

procrastination & prayer

forgive me, oh blog followers. this is my 1st blog post in 3 weeks & i apologize. i really do. it's just that procrastination is my nemesis. i find myself putting off new blog posts because they take so damn much time.

but, i learned something important today that i need to tell you about. it's about control, i guess you could say.

control as it relates to prayer.

there's a heartbreaking tragedy going on in someone's life who's close to me right now. a dear friend - her brother was in a crazy freak accident, bitten by a rattlesnake of all things after finishing a 5-mile run on the exercise trail behind the hospital where he works. venom went straight into his vein & pumped through his body at an astronomical speed.

none of it makes sense. it's all just so bizarre.

the man is a father, a husband, a brother, a son. a surgeon. in fact, it was between surgeries when he took his run. he's been on life support & a respirator for coming on a week now. they found a second set of bite marks - not just on his ankle, but his wrist, too. & now, pneumonia has set in. just where it's all going -- well, who knows really? God does, i suppose.

of course, He does.

i've been overcome with sadness - so sad for my friend his sister, his dad, his wife & kids. his patients, present & future. a tremendous sadness like one i've never felt. so many tears. it's been all i think about.

the prayers i've said - what i've said... please God, save his life. his work here on earth isn't finished. Jesus, raise him up like Lazarus -- i know you can. he's got so much more to do.

struggling, i called another friend this morning. my special phone-friend who helps me talk through difficult things. he's the kind of person who's a real truth meter, who i feel safe telling anything to.

SPOILER ALERT -- i'm one those "woo-woo" people. i guess you could say i have an open-minded approach to things i don't understand, & if that's a turn-off to some people -- sorry. but, writing this blog, i've got to keep it real. know what i mean?

so, i told him everything i've just told you. plus, that with how i'm so consumed with it, it's like i'm involved on such a personal level. my friend's brother & i knew each other in college. not well -- she was my roommate & he would come to visit, but i was always super-crazy about him. he was her younger brother, for heavens sake, so don't get the wrong idea. but there was something there. i'm not sure what, but it was something.

these overwhelming feelings of mine have to do with a past-life experience between us. i know it sounds weird, i can't explain it & i can't prove it, but it came over me with such sudden intensity, i knew it sure as chocolate when the words spilled out of my mouth to my friend on the phone.

i also felt like this past-life thing between my roommate's brother & me, my overwhelming feelings have to do with the fact that i was unable to save him before. unable to get there on time. like i said -- something. something deeper. it was personal.

praying - more like demanding that God save his life, my trying to impose my will on roommate's brother, how do i know what his will is for himself? And, what God's will is for him?

i don't. it's none of my business, really. it's their business. together.

& as soon as my phone-friend helped me understand this, i was able to give up my wanting to control. it wasn't immediate. it took a little while because i really want him to live. & i'm pretty stubborn.

but, a feeling of peace & calm came over me. it's what i've felt ever since.

control. i have none. over anyone but myself.

in case you think i'm giving up on prayer -- not a chance. those things i don't understand, i'm not always going to. faith. trust. it's what i have for now.

His will be done.

which are you? a back-row or a front-row person?

me, i'm naturally a back-row person. it's a great place to hide so people won't bug you. sure, there's the occasional sadistic teacher who takes great merriment in calling on the back-rowers anyway, but it's a risk worth taking. i'm not the least bit competitive, either. plus, i'm not especially comfortable with public speaking-- think red face & throbbing neck muscles.

you get the picture.

it's how I spent my life, up until junior year in college when a light bulb came on.  hey...... i remember thinking. i'm as smart as those ass-kissers on the front row & if i sat up there, too & actually engaged, i'd probably get better grades, not to mention, i might actually learn something. so, i grudgingly hauled my little self to the front row where i steadfastly remain.

sometimes.

i migrated back there last weekend. the back row, i mean.

i was traveling. i'd been in san francisco visiting great friends. a really cool getaway that i really needed. i'm telling you, i'm either chained to this computer working or doing book promotion or whatever & it's damn exhausting. oh, boo-hoo, you're probably thinking. we all have jobs, so get over it.... you're right, but i just needed a minute to whine.

okay, i can continue now.

trips are really sweet until the last day when you have to get on a damn airplane. &, no, i'm not some sissy who's scared to fly-- i'm not --it's just a total drag. you know what i mean.

my friends dumped me off at the airport super-early. it was the husband's idea, go figure, so he could zip down to san diego & hang out with his friend, daniel. oh, it wasn't a big deal-- i loaded up on four packages of chocolate kit-kats, jumbo-sized, & waited a couple of hours for my flight to vegas where i'd have a little layover before my final leg home to austin. don't judge-- chocolate while traveling is essential.

then i waited some more because the flight was mega-delayed- you know the drill. i kept looking @ my watch, wondering if there'd be time to catch my connecting flight. at the airline desk, i found out that i'd be boarding soon & they had everything completely under control.

moments after getting my seatbelt fastened & tray table in the upright position, i was hustled off the plane, knowing that my luggage was flying to vegas without me.

i didn't get irritated, annoyed, grumpy-- none of those things. i went into back-row mode. survival mode. hunkered down.

it wasn't just me getting hustled off the plane, but about a dozen other people were in the same predicament. bringing up the rear, i followed them outside & waited half an hour in the scorching sun for a shuttle bus heading to san jose so we could catch a direct flight to austin.

a shuttle bus-- can you believe that? but, i stayed chill.

finally time to load up, this time i was first in line-- that's how you get a seat on the back row. brilliant, i know.

so, i settled in next to a swarthy little guy who smelled like pepperoni.

did i mention that i hadn't uttered a single word since i'd gotten to the airport? partly because my mouth was full of chocolate, but i seriously hadn't spoken at all & i planned to keep it that way. i'd need every ounce of strength i had if things got wild-- you never know, i might have to spring into action & commandeer the bus like sandra bullock in that movie speed. plus, i've seen the poseidon adventure & titanic.

this was when i began checking out everyone sitting in front of me- nonchalantly, you understand. we'd become a group now-- a little family. the 30ish woman with the braided ponytail & ball cap who never got off her iPhone. her snuggly boyfriend whose bald spot she stroked intimately with her free hand. the white-haired older woman with skin like powdered vanilla. i squinted to read the words tattooed down her arm-- "jesus loves you, but he loves me best."

i couldn't help watching one man in particular. i'd noticed him when we were standing on the sidewalk. you could tell just by looking @ him that he was a high school basketball coach with his broad shoulders & striped, collared t-shirt tucked neatly into his dress slacks-- that & the fact that he kept mentioning it in a crisp voice. i thought he was just being helpful before, & i'm sure he was, but now he was asserting himself as the alpha dog-- our self-appointed dad.

i could see mr. pepperoni to my right bristle when the man looked from face to face, assuring everyone that the bus should make it in time for us to catch our flight & to remain calm. then, mr. pepperoni said loudly, "i've been in this identical situation plenty of times before."

when not one person acknowledged him, his eyes darted in my direction, begging me to say something-- to please back him up & help him be daddy, as if we were forming alliances like on that old tv show survivor.

"can't help you, bud," my silence told him. "because if things get wild, ain't nobody gonna be daddy but me."

but, i'm not competitive-- that's what i told you, right?

it doesn't come naturally, i'm not going to lie-- but if the situation calls for it, i'll kick ass.

it's one of those things that comes with putting yourself out there. i'll never make it with this book promotion thing, otherwise.

what writers have to do is completely contrary to their nature. think about it-- writing is a solitary, holed-up, keep-to-yourself endeavor. then your book's published, & you have to actually tell people what it's about? book signings? okay, try this one-- reading passages out loud? like in front of real-live people?

egads.

but, crap-- what else are you supposed to do? hide on the back row?

trust me, it's crossed my mind.

you would've been really proud of me. @ my book launch, i got up in front of tons of people & read a whole chapter. i promise, it was a really short chapter. nobody likes an insufferable bore-- you know the type-- but i did it, & you know what? it wasn't fatal.

here's another one-- are you ready for this? i went on TV. got interviewed on this news show. me? seriously?

it's not how i want to spend every afternoon, & i'm not saying i was awesome, & no one else did either. there were a couple of cringe-worthy moments, plus the news anchor said i should've worn darker lipstick... but, hey-- i did it, & like i said-- it wasn't fatal.

tell you the truth, i learned a lot from the book i wrote. i made the heroine do tons of stuff she didn't want to do, so what type of hypocrite would i be, lounging on the back row 24-7 ?

i'm not perfect, & i still like it there for sure, but, everyday's ass-kicking time, don't you think?

'cause daddy's home.

TTFN

#100dayshappy

as if I don't do enough social media without taking this on, too. i saw a post on twitter. maybe it was twitter. either that or Google+. the person who posted about #100dayshappy was a total stranger, so it couldn't have been facebook -- you get in big trouble on there for trying to friend peeps you don't know. it's not important how I know that.

so, anyway, this #100dayshappy is a thing -- a challenge, really -- that for 100 days, you're supposed to post a photo of something that made you happy that day. doesn't sound too hard, right? go on their site -- 100 Days of Happiness Challenge, i think it's called -- not too hard to find. site says the #1 excuse people make for not taking the challenge is that it'll take too much time. but who doesn't have time to be HAPPY, they want to know?

well, i probably usually don't. i mean, like hardly ever. well, maybe sometimes, that is if i'm not too busy on social media. hmmm-m. but perhaps this could actually HELP my social media situation. a "kill 2 birds," type-thing. sounds great, i said...

i'm IN!

day #1

day #1

pushing my cart through the grocery store when i saw these. perfect, right? stop & smell the roses... i was off to a GREAT start.

day #2

cruising down the road with my 90-year-old aunt in san angelo, texas. not the kind of thing you see every day. or at least i don't.

day #3

driving to houston for a book signing. i never, & i mean NEVER go on a road trip - changing zip codes qualifies - without eating at least 4 of these. reason being, they make me happy.

day #4

i was thinking about taking the photos a lot. kind of freakishly, now. @ maudie's, the tex-mex place around the corner from my house, people were beginning to whisper, why is that fruitcake taking a selfie of the trash can? i was beginning to wonder myself.

day #5

maybe i was having more fun than i thought. seemed like i was going out to dinner a lot, anyway. i ate there 2 nights in a row.

day #6

wheeling into downtown austin past the iconic changeable letters sign @ el arroyo restaurant on 5th street. had to get this!

day #7

just when this new happiness thing was becoming a habit, i went & blew it. almost midnight & i had no photo for that day. watching stephen colbert on tv, i knew this was just the right thing!

so... 100 days happy is off to a great start -- stay tuned!

TTFN

night owl

whooooo

whooooooo

me.

guilty as charged.

i think sleeping is so boring.

i do — i mean, it’s just not that thrilling to me.

maybe if i remembered my dreams i could write them down in a dream journal or something — that might be cool, but to me, the best thing about sleeping is waking up & having my lunchtime coffee.

yeah, i know — sleep deprivation is supposed to be bad for you. that know-it-all ariana huffington of the huff post — it’s her new thing she’s touting. wrote a book about how it was causing serious problems in her life. i saw her talking about it on marieTV, btw - look it up on youtube… marieTV is my idol marie forleo’s show, & don’t think it's all stuffy just because she had ariana on. besides, i'd never watch a show like that.

sorry — i just had to get off on that for a second.

okay, back to ariana. am i spelling that right?

in case not, let’s call her AH. okay – seems AH was taking her daughter to look @ colleges – excuse me, institutions of higher learning …. places in paris, rome, barcelona & bejing, no doubt. anyway, her daughter goes, listen mom — i absolutely insist you leave your blackberry in the hotel room & only check it @ night — which i'm sure to AH was right up there with cutting off her left boob, or something.

so, in the middle of the night, AH wakes up face-down on her keyboard with a huge, bleeding gash on her forehead. it was her wake up call. did you like that one? i couldn't resist.

hearing this, i told myself, all right, all right… i get the picture. but were there any changes on my part?

hell to the no.

then my mom called last week. you know, martha, she said, we’re both vain & care about how we look.

okay…

& not getting enough sleep is going to age you.

so, what are you trying to say, mom, i said, that i looked like i was 90 when you saw me a couple of weeks ago?

well, i didn’t say that, dear, but not getting enough sleep causes bags under your eyes & it won’t be long until they begin to sag.

say what?

i stared at my reflection in my computer screen, as i’ve been known to do on occasion. my mirror is in my bathroom, but that would take actually getting up from my computer.

&, you know, dear, she couldn’t help saying, that means your cheeks, too.

why do i even answer my phone sometimes?

i went to dinner with a couple of close friends on friday — the kind that you dispense with the pleasantries like, how’s your dog & get straight to the nitty-gritty. when i told them the situation, you know what one of them said?

martha, if that’s the time you’re most productive, just do it & stop beating yourself up.

exactly why i love this friend.

but my mom’s declaration that i’ll soon be looking like an old hag was still looping in my brain. not only that, but although my friend is a night owl, too, she’s also 20 years younger than i am.

so here’s what I’m going to try tonight. or rather, tomorrow morning: the mere thought of it gives me the riggers, but 1:00 am will be beddy-bye time.

i’ll let you know how it goes.

TTFN

yes, i am OCD

i hear it a lot.

the voices inside my head tell me.

the television, too -- when i'm watching that show hoarders.

but mostly, it's my computer who lets me know. you see, i'm obsessed with my website. maybe you've seen it -- http://www.marthalouisehunter.com

maybe that was a shameless plug, but my fingers just type that uncontrollably. my dog, bitsey thinks i'm weird at night when i start typing it on her head in my sleep.

maybe you don't realize it, but all of this social media stuff is a pain in the ass.

yes, i said it, & you can even tattle on me for cursing, because at this point, i really don't care.

this site of mine -- jeez louise, martha louise, -- it's so time-consuming, you wouldn't believe it. well, maybe you would, but here's the thing that's really the worst. have you ever noticed when you pull up a website on your phone, it's an adorable little mini-version of the one on your computer?

did you think it shrinks down like that like magic?

there's not a little genie in your phone. it's me.

it takes hours upon hours to get it right. not only do things move around all over the place, sometimes you lose them altogether. you should've seen me searching for the stupid amazon icon earlier. poor little thing was hiding underneath the little twitter bird.

this one time, i changed one teensy-weensie thing & my face looked like gertrude stein.

so, next time you look at something online, give a big old "you're AWESOME" to the little computer geek who made it all happen.

omg, i'm ocd... look @ the time. seriously? it's 3:25 a.m.

i know my posts routinely have typos, but this time, seriously -- get over it.

TTFN

i slam doors when i'm mad

i never realized how much my mother has influenced me until i started writing this blog. i'm serious.

no, she wasn't a door slammer, but her big sister was -- the very reason it was the ultimate no-no when i was growing up.

let me rephrase that -- the ultimate hell-no when i was growing up & my mom wasn't going to have it in her house.

the very reason i do it in mine.

may have been the first thing i did when i was old enough to have my own. imagine me signing the papers, walking over the threshold and

SLAM

here's why i think door slamming works. it's the watered-down version of throwing a stack of dishes at the wall, or firing a bullet through the television screen like elvis supposedly did. kind of like stark raving mad-LITE.

& besides -- are you kidding? i'd never hurt my own stuff. took me a long time to acquire it. not only that, but i really like it.

today was a real door-slammer for me. think i did it 3 times before lunchtime. if no one's home, sometimes i'll throw in a couple of long, loud monkey screams but there were painters outside, re-staining my garage doors that look like hell. &, no -- i didn't slam the garage doors. they're the roll-down kind.

so why was i so pissed today?

just got some not great news about something i'd put my blood & guts into. someone wasn't quite as impressed with it as i was. not nearly as impressed.

so, what did i do? after i slammed the doors, you mean?

3 times?

got on my old buddy facebook, of course. isn't that the 2014 salve for the soul? all your pals in one place ready to give you a big old

didn't have to search long. there's a woman on there who's the real rainbows & unicorns type. here's what was on her page:

after reading that little ray of sunshine, i think i went & slammed the door a couple of more times. ate a dozen more lemon cookies. didn't mention that part before, did i? my bad.

with only a few crumbs left in the box, i switched FB back on & began scrolling. here's what i found:

best damn idea i heard all day.

here's another one from the archives:

can i hear an amen?

thanks for listening. i feel better now.

TTFN

watching my reflection on my computer screen

admit it -- you've done it, too.  when the light hits it just right, the screen is like a mirror. like catching a glimpse of yourself in a storefront window. 

you know how you pretend you're not watching yourself because everyone inside the store will think you're a freak?

well, that's what's happening right now as i scrutinize my deformed nostrils on my computer screen while sitting in the  middle of starbucks. i just keep getting cooler all the time. 

my daughter & i were having dinner @ the café inside nordstroms department store -- you know, the place with the yummy salads where the waiter always brings a chocolate-covered peppermint stick with your bill  so you'll tip him extra? i really love that place.

anyway -- while we were eating, she informed me with a snide little laugh that my nostrils are different sizes.

well, guess what, hot rod, i told her. yours are, too.

what????  

she didn't believe it until she whipped out her phone & took a nostril selfie.  she just had to take a picture of mine, too, of course & posted them side-by-side on instagram where i'm sure they've gone viral -- 1,000,000 hits & counting.

okay, tell the truth. you're checking your own nostrils on your screen right about now, aren't you?

are they the same size? just curious.

TTFN   ta-ta for now

happy birthday to me

it's tomorrow, and i say, who cares?   I guess you could say the thrill is gone. here's what i've done since i was in my early 20's -- something ingenious, really. about mid-year, i begin telling myself that I'm already the next year older so it won't be such a shock when it gets here.  you should try it.

i used to really hate getting older. when i was whining about it a few years back, my mother looked at me and said, you know, martha -- you've had a lot of birthdays.

after i got over the indignity of her comment, i was left wondering why people apologize for being older. I mean, what's that about?

think about it.

here's what i said to my snotty little daughter the last time she made a disparaging comment to me about being old:

listen here, you little pipsqueak. i was kind of a hot babe when i was your age & you ain't got nothing on me.

come to think of it, you should be writing me a thank you note.

and you're grounded.

was that wrong?

TTFN - ta-ta for now