Enough with the Tornadic Activity, I want terra firmer, por favor
I’m spinning and it’s not from too many margaritas. For about the 100th time this season, we’re under a Tornado Watch. For those up north and in “high, dry, and safe” land, a Tornado WATCH is when they don’t actually SEE one but they think one my come around if the weather turns. A WARNING translates into Spanish as, “vamos like Hell, it’s a twister.” I suppose, in English, this roughly translates into “We think we’ve spotted one in that trailer park over there.”
And, speaking of trailer parks. What in the Hell was Hildi thinking of when she put 6000 flowers on the bathroom wall? I don’t know what she does in her bathroom but I can vouch for the fact that, whatever happens in mine ain’t rosey. Enough with the flowers and these “I’m a designer, I can do what the Hell I want and you have no say in your own home” routines, ok? It’s getting OLD. If it weren’t for the upcoming Austin shows, I probably wouldn’t even watch Trading Spaces anymore. I really don’t want to watch somebody trash a perfectly good bathroom because she has an attitude problem and thinks she’s queen for a day. Queen Mum maybe, and those were just some of what she stuck on the wall. Um, Hildi, darling, next time, DON’T say it with flowers, ok? The homeowners asked for SEA SHELLS. Not dead roses, dried hydrangia, and a brightly colored swirl of bad taste. How can you tell when a family of pink flamingoes moves in next door? The put plastic Hildi dolls on the lawn, that’s how.
Now, to round out my trailer park trashy theme for the day, I’ve decided to get drunk on New Years. I know, I know, I’m a lush, so what’s new and why is this news? But, this year, I’ve decided to go all out. I mean, the economy sucks, the Taliban are knocking down our doors, there’s Texas Twisters in the wind. I might as well go for broke and enjoy New Years. It’ll be my last bastion of drunken stupor before I have to wise up and actually do something productive, like clean my house. Which, if I lived in a trailer park, might not look all that bad but, in my yuppie subdivision, ick. My dust bunnies have dust bunnies. But, hey, at least I don’t have six friggin’ thousand flowers stapled to the walls of the bathroom, like those poor unsuspecting saps in Mississippi.
Maybe I’ll get one of the cyclone vacuums to clean the place. In honor of twister number 101. Maybe it will be so strong, it’ll suck up a pink flamingo or two. Sit and spin. Let ‘er rip. Twistin’ the night away. Yippie! Let’s suck up some flowers in Mississippi, I hear they have some to spare. Heh, heh, maybe, if the homeowners get lucky, a big one will spin by and they can put the insurance money to good use, fixing up the mess Hildi left behind.
Until next time, this is Carol, the Carol in “Carol’s Little World” signing off from someplace other than a trailer park in Kansas.
