How to write an amusing blog post.

As we open the scene at 154 Hidden Court, it is mid-morning and cj and zj are working on a coloring project that is spread out all over the living room coffee table.  Crayons are everywhere.  Mj takes one last look to ensure the safety and well-being of the boys, then grabs her massive cup of coffee - Cinnamon Roll flavored - and sneaks away to the office.  She sits down at the computer, opens it up, and...


Cue ominous music.


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj won't share!  I want the green crayon because I'm coloring the Green Lantern and he's GREEN!  And cj won't give it to me!"


Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, and goes in the living room, where there are NO LESS THAN 15 different green crayons available to choose from.  She makes some deals, swaps some crayons around, no one is actively crying, so mj heads back to the computer.  She sits down, the wonderfully amusing blog post swirling around in her head, just BEGGING to be let out, and...


Sounds of the bathroom door opening, then a large SPLASH! followed by uncontrollable giggling.


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj threw something in the TOILET!  AND NOW HE'S TRYING TO FLUSH IT!  AND HE'S ALL WET!  WITH PEE WATER!  EWWWWW!"

Cj:  "Ewwwwwww!"

Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, retrieves the toy Ironman from the toilet, rinses it off, cleans water up off the floor, takes cj upstairs and changes his clothes and disinfects his toilet-germy hands.  As they come back down the stairs...


Zj:  "Mama, I don't want to color any more.  Can I play on the Wii?"


Cj: "Wii!  WHEEE!!!"


Mj picks up 4,923 crayons, mostly green, puts them away, and turns on the Wii.  As the boys begin to play Mario - Cj's remote doesn't have any batteries, by the way - she returns to the computer and begins to type.  This is going to be the best blog post ever!  The words are just pouring out!  


Zj:  "Mama!  Cj shoved something up his nose!  And I think it's a crayon!  And it's GREEN!"

Mj sighs, gets up from the computer, and extracts this from cj's nose:

In the middle of the crayon extraction, mj notices that her living room window looks... dirty?  Closer inspection reveals this lovely crayon drawing on the window:

Mj retrieves cleaning supplies and cleans the crayon off the window.  Meanwhile, zj has tired of the Wii and has wandered off to change into:

his Batman costume.  

Zj:  "Hey Mama.  You wanna play pretend?  You can be Catwoman." He is using his best cajoling, sing-songy voice.

Cj: "Nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh Batman!"  singing the Batman theme song.  In his OUTSIDE VOICE.

Mj:  "Give me just five minutes to finish up what I'm doing, then we'll play, ok, guys?"

Disappointed sighs all around.

Mj wanders back to the computer, determined to finish the damn blog post.  Well, as soon as she checks Twitter.  And Facebook.  And Pinterest...

Twenty minutes later...

Zj:  "Mama!  Has it been five minutes yet?"

Mj sighs, hits the "Publish Post" button, even though she's not really pleased with what she's written, and goes to play pretend.

After all, she DOES get to be Catwoman.

Meow.

You'll always be my baby.

Dear Cooper,

Happy birthday baby.

I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but you're always going to be Mama's baby.

Whether you're two, or 22, or 52.

Yep.

My baby.

Except you're not really a baby any more, are you?

Because today, you're two.

Two years ago today, you came into this crazy little family and made it complete.

The first time I held you, I felt... peaceful.

It's been like that ever since.

You're a lot like your Mama sometimes.

It takes you a while to warm up to new people and situations.

I know a little about that.

You are content for hours playing by yourself, with your cows, or your cars.

I know a little about that.

You've never met a meal you didn't like.

I know a LOT about that.

You know the Dora theme song, the Spongebob theme song and can hum the Batman theme as well.

You can correctly identify most major superheroes, both Marvel and DC.

Mama's so proud.

I think when you grow up you'll be a great chef, or maybe a farmer.

You have decided to start potty training yourself.

Thanks, I think.

Your dimple is killer.

You are easy.

You're easy to take care of, easy to please and easy to love.

Our high-strung, high-maintenance family needed somebody like that.

You love your big brother with a fierceness that astounds me, and him.

Picking you up out of bed every morning, hearing you say "Hi Mama!" and feeling you wrap your tiny little arms around me for a great big squeezy-hug is the highlight of my day.

You call all the men you meet "Dada" and wave at them with this crazy back and forth wave that makes people laugh.

When someone is leaving, you yell "BYE BYE!  HAVE A NICE DAY!"

When I look into your big brown eyes, I see intelligence, and patience, and love.

It's been a great two years, Little Bit.

I can't wait to see what comes next.

Happy Birthday.

Mama loves you very much.

Becoming a Stay at Home Mama - Year One.

One year ago this week, I left my job as a bookstore manager for the last time.

I walked away from the long hours, the never ending cycle of "all that's old is new again," and the constant influx of people who needed, and needed, and needed things from me.

It was scary and terrifying in ways that  I cannot even begin to describe.

For many years I had defined myself and my worth by the successes (or lack of) that I had at work.

I was pretty good at my job.

I heard it from my staff, my peers, and my superiors.

I was the one who knew stuff, and who knew how to get stuff done.

And, then suddenly... I wasn't.

Suddenly all that I had previously used to define myself by was just... gone.

Instead,  I became the full time Mama to two energetic little boys who, prior to this, I had fed and clothed and bathed and loved... but had not really KNOWN.

I'd say we know each other pretty damn well by now.

There have been bumps in the road as the three of us got used to spending our days together.

Nothing has turned out quite like I expected it to.

As a serious Type A, anal retentive control freak, I fully expected by this point to be living in a June Cleaver clean house with Aunt Bea type meals and perfectly behaved little boys who were adorable in their clean tucked in shorts and ever-present suspenders.

Instead, I'm living in a house full of constant crumbs (WHERE DO THEY ALL COME FROM?!?!?!?!) with two sticky but sweet little boys who love to run and yell and throw things and who give their Mama spontaneous hugs as they run by.

Instead of spending our days in quiet, organized, scheduled activities, we kinda roll with the flow.

Sometimes we eat ice cream for lunch.

Sometimes we spend the whole day outside.

Sometimes we watch movies and eat popcorn all day, just because we can.

Occasionally, I yell "Stop punching/hitting/bothering/touching/picking on/licking your brother!" five thousand times.

And there have been a few times that I've gotten so fas as to look at the classified ads to see if maybe, just maybe, there was a little part-time gig I could pick up because oh dear God if I have to play pretend superheroes ONE MORE MINUTE I'm going to stab my left eye out.


But the thought passes quickly.

Because for the first time, maybe ever in my life, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

This is me.

Finally.

Crumbs and superheroes and all.

I heard he was run out of town...

Back row: Proctor (my grandfather), John, Charlie, Henry.  Middle row: Cora, Elsie.  Front row: Franklin and Mary Jane, my great grandparents

I don't know a lot about my ancestors.

As a late in life baby, all my grandparents and a lot of their contemporaries were dead long before I was born.

I have always been curious about those who came before me, and I admire people like my friend Jennifer who spend hours in cemeteries and libraries tracking down obscure birth dates and names and details that would otherwise be lost.

Most of the stories I know about my father's family I heard from my Mama, who heard them from my Daddy and his sisters over the years.  I'm not even sure where I got the picture above, and I probably wouldn't even know who they were, but my grandfather (Proctor, the tall one in the back on the left) looks so much like my Daddy it takes my breath away.

But as best as I can tell, my Daddy's family was a colorful bunch.

Looking at the picture above, I can kinda believe it.

Then last week out of the blue, some random distant cousin who I don't even know sent a five page history of our family to another of my cousins, who shared it with me.

Combined with some of the stories I heard from my Mama, here are some things I know about my great grandfather (Franklin, seated, left).

• He was a farmer and his wife was a homemaker.  
• In the 1920's he sold tobacco for five cents a pound.
• He helped build the Addison Dam, which was located near Stephensport, Ky in Breckinridge County.
• He once saw Frank & Jesse James while visiting Central City, Ky.
• He was born August 25, 1866 and died April 22, 1947.
• He was married on January 1, 1900.  Happy New Years!
• He was a known womanizer.
• Once there was some trouble involving either a) a woman or b) a stolen horse or c) both and he was either d) almost hanged or e) run out of town.

Take your pick.

Looking at the picture of him there, I can believe any or all combinations of that story.  He just looks like he was up to no good, doesn't he?  

Also, for some reason when I look at this picture of him, I get a feeling that he was someone who had a sense of humor, liked to have a good time, and probably never, ever needed to borrow any trouble.

But that's just my mind filling in the gaps, I guess.

So on this Father's Day, I'd like to give a big ole shout-out to my great grandfather, Franklin Marion Allen.  Although I never knew you, I suspect some part of you still lives on in some part of me.  

And although I can't be certain, I also suspect that it may be that little bit of a mischievous streak I find in myself from time to time.

Yep, I think that might just be it.

Hello there you gorgeous redhead. I'm glad you're back.

I have a long and complicated relationship with hair dye.

My natural hair color is somewhere between mousey brown and rabid-squirrel drab.

Me wearing the hair God gave me.  And coveralls.  And some dogs.

Exciting stuff.

Around the age of 14 or so, I started experimenting with Sun-In and lemon juice.

Oh, come on.  You know you did it, too.

This concoction often lightened my hair to blonde-ish, and as a teenager, that was ok, because everybody knows blondes have more fun, right?

Blonde-ish at 16ish.  Boy that kid looks familiar...  Family resemblance much?

When I went away to college, serious, intent on studying, mousey brown hair intact, hair dye wasn't high on my list of priorities.

Then... enter RJ.

As a known lover of redheads - his Grandma was Irish, it's in his genes - I let him help me choose my first "real" box of hair dye.

It turned out pretty close to this color:

So back to rabid-squirrel drab I went for a few years, until somewhere around the tender age of 23 or so, I began to notice some, ahem, gray hairs.  Not one or two, mind you, but hundreds.  Thousands, even. 

I shouldn't have been surprised.  My family, both close and extended, is known for prematurely gray hair.  I never knew my Daddy without shiny silver hair.  My sis B, who is 10 years older than me, has been 80% gray for 20 years.  Many of my cousins have the same thing going on.

But really?  At 23? 

So I made an appointment with a hairdresser I had never met.

He turned out to be an abnormally tall gay redneck man with no teeth and impeccable taste in hair.  His name was Will.  It was love at first sight.

He messed, fussed, and squealed around me for a few minutes, then decreed, "You're a redhead."

Um, ok?

I let him have his way with me, so to speak, and walked out of the salon with flaming red hair.

It was the prettiest I've ever felt in my life.

However, visits to Will were expensive, so over time I learned to dye my hair myself.

I've been every shade of red from strawberry to burgundy and back again.  My go-to color fell somewhere in the chestnut range, and I was ok with that.

My relationship with hair dye is even so complicated that it goes way past myself.

Once I got a call from my friend Natalie that went something like "Oh dead God can you please go to Walgreens and buy me some brown hair dye because I tried to bleach my hair blonde and now it's the color of a baby chick and I have to be at work in two hours and my scalp is bleeding and I can't go to work looking like something from an Easter basket and can you hurry PLEASE??!?!?!"

Another time I got hit by a car in the pouring rain in the Wal-Mart parking lot when I was there with another friend to buy hair dye in the middle of the night because apparently the need to dye one's hair is an EMERGENCY.

It's ok.  I totally understand.  Hair dye is IMPORTANT BUSINESS, y'all.

Then last year, I visited a new hairdresser - Will was hundreds of miles away at this point - and even though I pointed out several chestnut shades that I loved, she dyed my hair exactly the color she wanted to, which was definitely more chocolate than chestnut.  And I loved it.   

So for the past year, I've kept it.

I've chosen dark brown hair dye every time I go buy a box.  

It looked good on me.  It was serious and somber and it suited me.

Then the last time I went to buy hair dye, my eye kept going to the row of boxes that had the flaming red-haired ladies on the front.  They looked like they were having such a good time, not like those stuck-up ladies on the dark brown boxes who all suddenly looked like they belonged in the deepest darkest corners of a reference library.  On the night shift.

So...

I'm baaaccckkk!

And I'm feeing feistier than ever.

Totally not my fault Kahlua Almond Fudge Ripple Ice Cream.

Ok, let me start by saying this.

This recipe is totally not my fault.

It is also not my fault that I have made and consumed five batches of ice cream in five days.

It's all Angie's fault.

Click the link.

You'll see.

She taunted me with her ridiculously good Banana Ice Cream recipe, then teased me even more by tweeting me the link to her Oreo Party Ice Cream.

 Really, it's just not fair.

So I ordered the ice cream maker - $40 from Amazon in RED, no less, and I have been making a batch a day since it arrived.

I'm pretty sure that's not part of my diet plan.

Whatever.  It's good.

Also, since I'm apparently a functioning alcoholic I enjoy the taste of liquor a bit, I've made a couple batches of tipsy ice cream, where tipsy equals that shit will get you falling down drunk.

So far, this has been my favorite.

If you don't have an ice cream maker, go buy one now.

Tell 'em The Jammie Girl sent ya.

WHAT YOU NEED:

2-3 tablespoons of instant coffee powder, depending on how strong a coffee taste you like
1/3 cup Kahlua
1/4 cup whole milk
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk
2 1/4 cups heavy cream cream or half & half, depending on how large you would like your ass to grow
1/4 cup - maybe slightly less, sliced almonds that have been toasted in a non-stick skillet over low heat for about a minutes, then cooled
3 tablespoons chocolate fudge ice cream topping - I used Smuckers Chocolate Fudge, because with a name like Smuckers... Actually it was all my grocery store had.  So I bought it.


WHAT YOU DO:
Mix the coffee powder, Kahlua, vanilla extract and whole milk in a small bowl.  Whisk it until all the coffee is dissolved.

Here is where it gets crazy complicated.

Make sure you're paying attention.

Put the coffee mixture, the sweetened condensed milk, and the cream or half and half in your ice cream maker and follow the manufacturer's directions.  Mine is crazy hard to navigate.  I have to push the "On" button.

Wait until the last 5 minutes of the cycle to add the almonds, then wait till the bitter end to add the fudge sauce.  You don't want to give the sauce time to blend in, just make lovely ribbons of fudge all through your ice cream.

Eat it all with a big spoon straight out of the ice cream maker.

Plan to up tomorrow's running workout from 3 miles to 8 miles.

It's totally worth it.

Bluegrass Cellular Heartland Festival 5k - with Redneck playlist!

I ran another little 5k last week.

Loads of fun.

I wonder why, even though races always seem like torture, I'm constantly looking for the next one?

But this was just a little 5k, just a few minutes from home, and it seemed like a good idea.

The highlight, for me and for the 600+ people who got to experience HIM, was that zj also ran.

For real.

Yes, he's five.

No, he didn't train.

Yes, he finished.

Yes, it was his idea.

No, I didn't make him.

Yes, he was the youngest runner (by two years).

But even though he made MANY fans along the course (RJ ran with him, it's not like we just put him out there alone), and even though I'm one proud Mama, let's get back to ME, shall we?

Here's how it happened.

On the way to the race:  I'm all set.  I'm going to run the entire race to the Footloose soundtrack.  No more rednecky music for me.  Uh-uh.  No way.  This music is upbeat, and fun, and I think it will be perfect 5k music.  Except... maybe I'll just add this one Loretta Lynn song.  And maybe some Tanya Tucker.  And I'm in a bit of a Conway Twitty mood this morning... Ohhh... and some Oak Ridge Boys, too...

Starting Line: On the playlist: When I Die, I May Not Go To Heaven by Tanya Tucker Well, I guess the drawback to running races near home is that you see a ton of people that you recognize but don't really know.  Oh, hi, vaguely familiar and somewhat generic lady with brown hair.  *smile and slight head nod*  And hello to you, random guy who is either the guy who works the window at Chick-Fil-A or the anesthesiologist who gave me a spinal before cj was born.  *nodding, eye contact*  Ah, here we go!

On the playlist: Van Lear Rose by Loretta Lynn  Oh. Dear. Lord. It's freakin' hot.  But not hot enough to say, take off my shirt like that bear guy.  Seriously dude?  You might want to Nair that shit up.  

On the playlist: Trying To Love Two Women by The Oak Ridge Boys  Ok, this is going pretty well.  I'm running fast, making great time, feeling good.  Wowza.  I rock! I am an excellent runner!

Mile One - On the Playlist: Tight Fittin' Jeans by Conway Twitty Ok, this is NOT going well. I started too fast, I have a stitch in my side, and IT. IS. HOT.  I suck at running.  Why am I even here?  It's not even 8 o'clock in the morning, and I'm out here sweating like a whore in church and in a reasonable amount of pain.  Only crazy people do this kind of thing.  Oh wait... I remember now...  Hey, is that guy running SIDEWAYS?  Why yes, yes he is...

On the playlist: Ten Rounds With Jose Cuervo by Tracy Byrd  Ok, that's a much more reasonable pace.  I'm sure to finish by, say, NOON if I can keep this up.  But at least I'm keeping up with that little girl over there.  Awwww... how cute.  She can't be more than nine or ten, and she looks so determined.  How sweet that she's so focused even at that age... HEY! She's passing me.  It's ON now, bitch.

On the playlist: Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter  Whew.  Ok, I passed her.  Snippy little thing.  Who does she think she is, anyway?  Didn't her parents teach her to respect her elders, and to get out of the way when they elbow you pass you?  

On the playlist: Stand By Your Man by the Dixie Chicks  I know this isn't an affluent community or anything, but seriously?  This water from the water station is HOT.  Like, fresh out of the coffee pot hot.  If you can afford water, you can afford ice, people.  Ok, mj, focus on being grateful that you even get water...  Oh, screw grateful. You?  Yes, I'm talking to you.  Go get me a margarita.  Frozen.  Extra salt.

Mile Two - On the playlist: I Walk The Line by the Los Lonely Boys  Oh look, it's Sideways Guy again.  And... he's still running sideways.  But now I can see that it's so he can "coach" that woman through her race, if by coaching, I mean yelling.  And if by race, I mean barely moving.

On the playlist: Jose Cuervo by Tanya Tucker Ok, Sideways Guy.  Give her a break, will ya?  Your woman friend or whatever she is clearly isn't as fit as you, and clearly would like to cut you from groin to nose with a rusty knife.  Let up on her a little bit, ok?  Your constant chant of "Pick it up, PICK IT UP PICKITUP!" doesn't appear to be incredibly motivational to her.  Also, judging from the look on her face, if you happen to live with her you might want to sleep with one eye open tonight.  Just a little advice, dude.  From me to you.

On the playlist: If You're Gonna Play in Texas by Alabama  Hey, there's that little girl again!  I thought I completely incapacitated was well past her by now.  What are you trying to prove, girlie?  Ok, I didn't want to make this ugly, but have you ever pissed off a hot, sweaty, tired redneck before?  Yeah, life lesson time... 

On the playlist: Drinkin' My Baby Goodbye by Charlie Daniels  Almost done.  My time totally sucks.  I'm hot, tired, and grumpy.  Hey!  I just realized that I don't have anything on the race calendar for July.  I'll have to start looking as soon as I get home...

Mile 3 to finish line: Footloose by Kenny Loggins  See, I totally ran a whole race listening to something that's not rednecky country music!  Oh, wait... Hmmm... Well, anyway, I wonder where my kid is?

Super special big shout-out to the fine folks running the race for totally rigging the door prize drawing so zj could win.  I will love you forever for it. 

What Not To Wear: The Amusement Park Edition

The J Family recently went to Holiday World for a day of riding rides, eating overpriced ice cream and funnel cake, splashing in the water park, having a variety of meltdowns (me, not the kids), and playing games in order to spend $20 to "win" a $.47 stuffed animal.

Good times.

Before we left, I checked the weather.

92 and sunny.

Ya know, hot.

I dressed the kids in their coolest clothes and slathered them with sunscreen, then spent way too long stressing about what I should wear.  It's gonna be hot so I'd like to wear something cool, but cool usually equals low and short and skin and I don't want to look TRASHY, ya know, like somebody who should be featured on the People of Wal-Mart, except this time I would be The People of Holiday World and OMG what if somebody creates a website JUST to make fun of me and I'm like the inaugural post or something?


I finally settled on this:

Before we left I asked RJ no less than several hundred a dozen times if I was showing too much skin, or if I looked trashy, or if maybe I should go put a REAL shirt on.  And some pants.  I'm an 80 year old prude trapped in a 37 year old body, y'all.

Once we got to Holiday World, I could see pretty much immediately that I  even though you could see my ARMS, for goodness sake, I was still on the conservative side of the dress code.  And even though I am no fashion plate and I have struggled with dressing myself my entire adult life, I saw many, many, many, many people who were dressed in such a way that I became frightened, ill, and on one memorable instance, blind for about ten minutes.

So this is my gift to you, world.  If you are planning a trip to an amusement/water park in the future, here are some things that you should absolutely not wear.

1)  Full safari gear.

Shortly after entering the park, I saw a woman, probably in her 70's, in a full on safari getup, complete with hat, netting and gigantic camera around her neck.  I thought at first she was a park employee of some sort in costume, coming to take our picture for us.

Uh, no. 

In reality, she was just a really overly dressed 70 year old woman in danger of having a heat stroke.  

Uh, lady, I'm pretty sure you're not going to have to stalk and catch any wild animals here, mmmk?  Unless you want to be in charge of my children.

2) Formal attire.

To the lady in the red sequined evening gown who also was not part of the entertainment: What. The. Hell?  Really?  When you got up this morning, did you think "Well, I feel pretty today.  I think I'll wear my prom dress from 20 years ago to the amusement park.  It will be perfect for the Water Log ride."  

3) I don't even know what to call this:

Ok, imagine this.  Imagine this look, except with those louvered window-shade looking sunglasses and a hat of questionable origins.  Kinda fedora-like?  Anyway, upon further consideration, I'm going to give this look a pass, because the only reasonable... reason someone would ever even leave the house dressed like this is that he or she has some hideous deformity that is even scarier than the look itself.   I feel bad for you, and I'm sorry I made fun of your outfit. Ok, really I'm not that sorry. 

4) Wife-beater shirt tucked into cutoff denim shorts, with a belt.

Sir, this is an undershirt.  It is sold in the same place in the store as the underwear.  Tucking it in and putting a belt on does not make it dressy enough to wear in lieu of an actual shirt.  Thank you for your attention to this matter.

Later in the afternoon, we went to the water park area, and I'd like to throw this disclaimer out there first.  I saw many, many people of every size, shape and gender who were dressed in flattering bathing suits that were totally acceptable and appropriate, even to an old prude like me.

But then I saw things like this:

and so much of this 

mostly on adult men who should, at the age of 40 plus, have gained the ability to pull their pants up when they feel them slipping down, that I actually went blind for a while.

It's ok.

The blindness was a blessing.

Really, don't you people look in a mirror before leaving your house?  Or maybe TRY ON your suit to make sure it still fits, even though you've lost and/or gained 50 pounds since last year?  

It's common sense, right?

Ok, guess not.

Good thing you've got me to set you straight.

You're welcome.

The postman only rings once. Then he runs.

Zj is obsessed with two things. 

Superheroes and playing pretend superheroes.

"Mama, wanna play pretend with me?"

I hear it a thousand times a day and oh dear God I'd rather stab my eye out with a rusty spoon that to have to be pretend to be a superhero sidekick or a villain one more freakin' second I usually figure out a way to incorporate in into our daily life.

While I'm making breakfast, I'm Catwoman to zj's Batman.

Folding laundry?  I'll be Jean Grey to zj's Wolverine.

Lunchtime?  I'll be Pepper Potts to his Ironman.

Recently, since I took zj to see the movie and have purchased no less than 14 Burger King kid's meals in order to secure all 6 toys, it's been Thor and Sif.  

And on and on the day goes.  And on, and on, and on, and on, and on...

Being the well-rounded superhero-loving family that we are, there are also many, many costume changes involved.  

Mostly on zj's part.  Sadly, many of his costumes are on the smallish side for me.  But the headgear fits.  Oh joy.

One day last week, we did our usual "Thor&Sif" routine in the morning, then I got a brief reprieve while cj napped and zj watched random Youtube videos on the iPad about how to assemble, disassemble and reassemble Marvel Crossover Transformer Action Figures.

Hmmm... geek much?

Anyway, at one point the doorbell rang, and I did my usual mental inventory to ensure I was appropriately dressed to answer the door.  Pants?  Check.  Shirt? Check.  (My standards are pretty low.) Ok, hi Mailman.  Thanks for the package.

When I opened the door, the mailman, our usual friendly guy, looked a bit startled.  I did a quick, stealthy glance down.  Yep, I had all my lady bits covered.   Mailman stuttered and stammered a minute as I tried to make friendly chitchat, but he seemed a little... off, I guess.  Is he having a stroke?  On my front porch?  Oh dear God who am I going to call if my mailman has a stroke on my front porch?  Do I have to call 911 or can I just print a label out and ship him back somewhere?  Parcel post, of course.  It's my face.  He's staring at my face.  I must have chocolate on my face.  Or maybe I need to get my eyelids and mustache waxed again. Yep.  He's definitely staring at my mustache.  Damn judge-y old Mailman.  Well screw him.  He has HAIR GROWING OUT OF HIS EARS.  Who is he to judge a few stray chin hairs on an otherwise perfectly lovely lady like myself?  That's it.  I'm not standing for it.  I'm taking my business to UPS.

After a perfectly frosty "ThankYouAndGoodbye" and a bit of a door slam on my part, I put down my package and went to see exactly what my Mailman was staring at.

And I saw this:

Oh.

Well.

I guess my Sif Headband might merit a second look.

It's ok, Mailman.

I forgive you for staring.

I'm generous like that.