Poetry Friday: Honk

Mona has graciously supplied us with this weeks inspiration, Honk.

Way in the days before Tivo, when Ray Charles was still grooving, Missus Chica had an acquaintance, who worked as a student assistant in the kindergarten class. His duties included walking the kids to and from various locations. On one occasion, he had to call a little boy down for goofing off in line. The five-year-old turned around, facing the student assistant, grabbed his crotch and yelled, “Honk, honk, mother fucker.”

You know his parents had to be really proud.

Sympathetic Relationships

Last weekend was an excellent time to be the Mister. Friday, the Missus surprised him with la dvd of one of his favorite shows. That’s right, over twenty three hours of television to watch before the season premier, Monday night. He was also treated to to the Missus sporting a flimsy top with a deep scoop. No need for to explain where his eyes wandered when he wasn’t engaged in television.

Monday the Missus was out of town and he finished his dvds and ran errands. Baby Girl, his youngest called him when he was card shopping. She proceeded to give him the fifth degree as she has been known to do. The conversation went something like this:

“Hey Daddy, it’s me. I called to wish you a Happy Birthday, what are doing?”

“I’m shopping for a card.”

“Why are you shopping for a card?”

“Our anniversary was Friday, and I my looking for a card for Missus Chica.”

“DADDY!” followed by a short pause and then, “Men”

“It’s okay, she isn’t mad at me. It isn’t like I forgot.”

“Of course she isn’t mad at you. She’s nice.”

(You go girl.)

“You better take home flowers too.”

Poetry Friday: Social

Our delightful dominatrix, Mona commands us to utilize social in our creative endeavor of choice. For you Mona, the world.

Poetry Friday Wednesday

Many of you are already aware the folks left home for a few days leaving me in charge of the house. Before leaving, they were vindictive considerate enough to shut down the router and disable the wireless access. Apparently, SOMEONE got a little carried away shopping for catnip and gourmet brownie mix the last time they were gone, so we were both punished for Dirty Girl’s lack of restraint and theft of the Mister’s credit card. Well, anywho…

Left to fend for ourselves with exception of the occasional surprise inspection from our beloved cat sitter, we ordered porn on pay-per-view, and I must admit, it wasn’t what I expected. What’s with all that furniture from the seventies, is it mandatory? And the music, what were they thinking? Don’t even get me started about the plot.

Mona is back and providing inspiration for the debaucle, that is known as Poetry Friday, and the phrase is Letting Go.

The Rescue

Most of you know we the Mister have has had issues with squirrels in the past. Thursday he was outside, defending the homestead against furry invaders when he heard a loud screeching sound. He looked around and spotted this little guy on the ground. Not sure what to do, he gently picked him up with a stick and brought him indoors to the Missus, for one of those famed, “You’re not going to believe what I just found” conversations.

After the Missus heard the little bastard guy shriek, she found a box and stuffed an old shirt in it, to keep him warm until they could formulate a plan. Missus Chica has bottle fed orphans in the past, but they were endearing creatures who wouldn’t be turning her daffodil bed into a salad bar.

She pondered for a moment, and then suggested calling the massage therapist to see if she would take him. Earlier in the month, the Missus had an appointment, and Alice* greeted her at the door holding a baby squirrel in one hand and an eye dropper in the other. Alice* is very compassionate. She had four rescue cats, and was rehabilitating a crow and a mocking bird to return to the wild. Did I mention she lives miles from us? So maybe the little bastard fellow won’t return to this neighborhood.

Alice* seemed happy to take him in and offered to give regular progress reports. The Mister told her knowing the little guy was in such capable hands was enough.

No one thought to ask me if I wanted to nurse him back to health. I feel slighted. I practically raised Dirty Girl alone, and I am very compassionate…

*Not her real name.