C-H-R is for…

I have nothing new to say about what I’m reading, except that I’m not.  It is hard to read when you worked from 7am to 8pm, like I did today, although there was a little break in there for a trip to the dentist–which was the only place I managed to pull out a book all day.  (In between playing the new hygienist’s game of twenty questions–WHY do they always ask you questions just after they stick a sharp buzzing object into your mouth?)  (And since when do hygienists have the right to ask you how long you’ve been dating your boyfriend, if he’s coming home for Thanksgiving with you, and if you think he might be The One??!  Uh…nice to meet you too, Stephanie.  My boyfriend is great.  And he loves clean teeth.  So if you could get back to that part of our girly girly chat date, please…)

So I’m currently sitting on my bed staring at all the stuff that needs to get washed, put away, or otherwise taken care of.  And waiting for a friend, we’ll call her Shmiz to protect her privacy, to come over and crash/collapse/hyperventilate/calm down or do whatever one does (write poetry?) after visiting one’s ex-girlfriend to pick up a variety of belongings, including a cereal bowl and a penis.  (Did Shmisa just render her blog unusable for professional networking?  Aw drat.  There’s an edit button on this thing, right?)

On another note.  Instead of reading more YA lit, I’m considering writing some of my own.  I think I could lift a conversation right out of the last violin lesson I taught tonight.  NOTES: Shmarrett is a 9-year-old boy.  Miss Shmisa is a sleep-deprived violin teacher.
Shmarrett: I want to work at NRL when I grow up.

me: [no clue what NRL is] Oh, is that where your mom works?

Shmarrett: Yep.

me: What does she do?

Shmarrett: She works in Building 54.

me: …Oh.

Shmarrett:  She makes $30,000 a month.

me:  Oh!

Shmarrett: We have a lot of things we need to buy.

me: And what does your dad do?

Shmarrett: He has a home office.  I forget exactly what he does in there…if I remember correctly, he plays poker.  That gets us even more money.  Which is good, because we’re gonna need even more money for something coming up soon [with a sinister look]

me: ?

Shmarrett: It starts with a “C.”

me: Ohhh, college, yeah–

Shmarrett: Noooo…”C-H.”

me: [picturing a world in which I gamble online in a home office all day in order to afford my emergency stash of 75% cacao feel-good bars] …..Chocolate???

Shmarrett: [look of disbelief]  No!  “C-H-R”!

me: Oh. Right. Christmas.

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