Today Joshilyn blew my cover, and pointed out that this trip is to be our own personal BlogHer event. That’s an interesting way of putting it, I think. This is JUST like BogHer, really, except fewer strange hats and a lot more people saying, “Hey, how are y’all doin’ today?”
I was sort of getting into the swing of the southern dialect–not speaking it, myself, but finally resisting the urge to say “HUH?” every time someone spoke to me–when we stopped for coffee this morning and the young man who greeted us at the counter sounded JUST LIKE ME. “YOU are NOT from GEORGIA!” I declared in triumph. He looked frightened, but admitted that he was from Massachusetts. “One of my kind!” I sighed happily. He made the other barista wait on me. I have no idea why.
Miss Maisy, by the way, has the most adorable southern accent I’ve ever heard in my entire life. And I am not just saying that because she has spent every moment since my arrival either standing directly on my head or wailing, “Maamaa, way-uh is dat GUH-WUL?”
“Maisy Jane,” Joshilyn will admonish her gently, “What is THAT GIRL’s name?”
“I duh-noooooo,” she’ll answer. “Just dat guh-wul dat was a-pwayin wit me!”
“That girl is Miss Mir,” Joss tells her.
“Miss Mee-eer? You-a wanna pway bay-beees wit me now-a?”
How can I resist? Of course I-a wanna pway bay-bees wit her now-a!
Sam is far too old and wise for this foolishness. Her prefers to see how long I will tolerate his stinky feet on my bare leg. Such a southern gentleman. If he was ten years older and I was… ummm… twenty years younger… uhhhh… okay, that may be more disturbing that I intended. Sorry.
Anyway, the delightful children here are not the main point right now. The thing you need to know right now is that while BlogHer had maids picketing about the Heavenly Beds, this little event has the extreme joy of me breaking the entire house.
At least, that’s what Joss told Mr. Husband when she called him. Something about how my “fancy European hairdryer” had destroyed the house, she’d begged me to use an adapter, but I’d hammered the plug into the wall and then set the place on fire. (To Mr. Husband’s credit, he scolded her for telling tales.)
In reality, I was drying my hair and a fuse blew, disabling no more than perhaps a narrow fifth of the house. Honestly. Also, my hair drier is no more European than I am. But the details of the situation were somewhat overshadowed by the immediate cries of, “I-uh wanna LIE-IT back on in hee-ah! I-uh wanna PUNJ BOB back on in hee-ah!” And I had to hang my head and tell the world’s sweetest child that my hair was the reason Sponge Bob had gone silent. I was duly shamed.
Perhaps it was the embarrassment over my faux pas in the name of straight hair, but we were unable to find a single pair of shoes that either of us needed to buy today. Sad. Also, Joshilyn’s bosom tried on a beautiful dress, and my bosom tried on a flouncy little top, but in both cases we were simply too breastular to acquire the garments in question and continue to respirate freely. Thus ensued a conversation about having been foiled by our cleavage, or did saying that throw us into a victim role which we are far too self-actualized to be assuming? Existential crises with a dash of merriment followed.
We did, however, manage to feed approximately $491 dollars in dimes into a meter for 54 minutes of parking, and also to nearly be accosted by a scary man who yelled at us and then tailed us for several blocks. It was an exciting day!!
After Kira arrives, I plan to plug in various appliances and blow several more fuses. Then I will tell Maisy that Kira did it, so that Maisy will continue to love me the best. That seems fair.
Giddy in the South,