Cream of the Flop

Received good news after months of worry. To celebrate, an unexpected blog post rather than the “Sorry I Won’t Be Blogging For Awhile Again” downer I was originally going to write.

 

Last week’s vacation was enjoyed off the Red Arrow Highway in New Buffalo, Michigan. For three days I sang, “On the Red Arrow Highway…” to the opening strains of Hotel California. I didn’t continue beyond those five words, but I did sing at full volume. Often.

Every time we were on the Red Arrow Highway, every time we saw a sign for it, mentioned it, spotted it on a map at a local winery, I would interrupt whatever highly important conversation we were having to blast those seven syllables.

For three days.

Keep in mind, this was really the only major road in town.

I didn’t just kill a questionable joke, I murdered it with impunity. And verve. Always with verve.

Of course, this kind of thing stops being funny the third time. I hit the third time before we checked into the B&B.

Yesterday, we took the boys to a glamorous lunch at Whole Foods. My youngest, by 2 minutes thankyouverymuch, began walking out after his ridiculously overpriced gourmet (and admittedly delicious) PB&J. Above the next table was a blow up photo of some of the WF ridiculously overpriced gourmet catering options. Monkey L. stopped at the beautiful photo of the most perfectly grilled bratwurst EVER, pointed and started saying “Wiener! Wiener! Wiener!”

(I call them hot dogs and brats, so don’t look at me.)

The woman sitting under the wiener picture twisted her mouth into a small grin, trying very hard not to look like she was listening. Her mouth just kept twisting until it resembled something akin to irritation the 20th time my kid pointed to the sign and giggled, “Wiener.”

DNA. It’s no joke.

 

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