I'm, Like, So Mature

Based on reading my previous posts, you probably concluded that I'm a very serious, mature person. A real grown up. Most likely, you hold me in the highest order, right up there with the Queen of England and Bono. Real dignified types.


Sit down, buckle up, and hold on 'cause I'm about to flip your picnic table: sometimes I'm not mature. I don't act like a grown-ass woman. 

Gasp?! What?!


Please take a moment to allow your breathing to return to normal. Allow some time for your pulse to stop racing from the shock.

Exhibit A: My husband is a man of many talents, including the ability to build furniture. To date, he's made one dresser, one blanket chest, one chest of drawers, two ladder shelves (complete with complex angles, whatever the crap those are) and one kitchen table large enough to seat eight comfortably. Ten if you squish. 

Currently, he is alone in the living room watching a TV show about woodworking with rapt attention. Currently, I am in the kitchen blogging about my level of maturity because I've been banished from the living room for giggling every time the tv show woodworking guy says "a filch of crotch". And he says it A LOT. 

I don't know what a filch of crotch is. I will probably never know because I can not remain calm long enough to hear the explanation. Hysterical laughter rips from my body. Every time I get myself under control enough to hear the definition, I hear "filch of crotch" and I'm off and laughing again. That's the worst, too. Trying not to laugh just makes everything funnier. 


Like when you are in church. Something that ordinarily rates a solid five on the ole "Funny One to Ten Scale - Ten Being the Funniest" gets ratcheted up to a nine if you are sitting next to your mom and she keeps giving you the stink eye for laughing in church. I got the stink eye in church a lot.


Exhibit B: the almost empty bottle of Hershey's chocolate syrup. It makes a monstrous, juicy, farty noise when you squeeze a near empty bottle. You squeeze the bottle and it sounds like a giant whoopie cushion. Or Shrek. I can't help myself. I usually say (strangely, with a British accent) "Excuse me" or (no accent)"Wow! I feel soooo much better now!" or the ever popular "Do you think the neighbors heard that one?" after the bottle makes that noise. 


I'm, like, so mature. 

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