The mice do play.
Yes, another rhyme. But I have my own version.
When the boss is away, it makes my day.
I ran into a good friend in the market last week. I'm certain that she's signed a confidentiality agreement about her place of employment... I did the same when I worked at each of the several studios that I worked at. So it was impossible for her to respond when I started joking about her boss traveling for business and therefore she having a vacation.
Later that evening, I realized that I hadn't said everything I intended to about the boss being gone. So I e-mailed her.
If you think I loved it when my boss traveled, that was nothing. I really liked it when she went on vacation because she would only check in once a day and if I timed it right, I was away from my desk when she called.
My very favorite time, though, was when she was sick. Preferably deathly ill. Sometimes if she was sick enough, she didn't call at all.
Just when I think I miss working the most, I remember it was not all rainbows and lemonade.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Beans
Beans! Beans!
The magical fruit.
The more you eat them
The more you Toot.
The more you toot
The better you feel
So eat your Beans
at every meal.
I taught that rhyme to Miles - age 6 - a little over a week ago. When I helped him to school this morning, I tested his memory. It's fully intact. He may have translated my "front seat in the car" declaration from 'not before 8 years and 80 pounds' to '100 years and 100 pounds,' but he remembered every word of the jingle. Clearly he was impressed.
However, there is apparently a big difference between being six and eight years of age. Since Miles was so excited that I should know such a song, I mentioned the same to Ian after his awards ceremony last Monday. Rather than finding it amusing, he looked at me with a very slight tinge of condescention. "Oh Aunt Laura," he said. "That's an old one. I heard it on The Simpsons years ago."
The magical fruit.
The more you eat them
The more you Toot.
The more you toot
The better you feel
So eat your Beans
at every meal.
I taught that rhyme to Miles - age 6 - a little over a week ago. When I helped him to school this morning, I tested his memory. It's fully intact. He may have translated my "front seat in the car" declaration from 'not before 8 years and 80 pounds' to '100 years and 100 pounds,' but he remembered every word of the jingle. Clearly he was impressed.
However, there is apparently a big difference between being six and eight years of age. Since Miles was so excited that I should know such a song, I mentioned the same to Ian after his awards ceremony last Monday. Rather than finding it amusing, he looked at me with a very slight tinge of condescention. "Oh Aunt Laura," he said. "That's an old one. I heard it on The Simpsons years ago."
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Eleven After Ten
In my home, we keep to a certain schedule. Up at 7:00am to let the dogs out and maybe feed them, maybe not, then back to bed. I have autoimmune issues and they tend to be the worse in the morning so I sleep late whenever possible.
Up at 8:30 to feed the dogs if I didn't do it earlier because by 8:30 am, Cosmos is crying like a baby, a miserable dog who's lament is that he is being starved to death. Immediately following breakfast, dogs go out again (or I take them for a walk if it's a good morning) because if I don't let them out, Sunny will stand at the door and bark at me until I do. In the meantime, Cosmos will be 1.) Peeing in his dog dish, 2.) Peeing in Sunny's dog dish, or 3.) Peeing in the doorway to the bedroom.
The daylight hours vary depending on what I have scheduled. Doctor's appointments are a constant, and on the days - a lot lately - that I'm not feeling so well, I spend a lot of time in bed. The dogs go in and out as they please when I'm home as I leave the front door open for their pleasure. (We have a front patio; I keep the gate to that locked so there are no mistaken escapes.)
11am is dog biscuit time. As is 12pm, 1:30pm, 4:00 pm, and then it's dinner by 6:00. It's the happy dog that gets fed the evening meal early and it happens occasionally. Especially on the evenings that I go to exercise class but also on those days that I don't want to listen to Cosmos's piteous whine about hunger.
The evening goes sporatically. Cosmos will follow me wherever I go in the condo (it's not very big), especially to the kitchen where he demands yet another biscuit for himself and his brother. And if he can get me to feed him directly from the refrigerator, he's even happier.
9:00pm, and it's time for the final walk of the day if I'm feeling well enough, or the final time in the yard if I'm not. Then comes a question of bed.
Cosmos is in favor of bed. He believes that the mattress in the middle of my bedroom with the sheets and pillows belongs to him. He will allow me to share it with him, but there is no question as to who is in charge.
When the evening constitutional is complete, he thinks that he should be put directly into the sleep mode. This belief has become worse as he becomes a - ahem - mature dog, but is an old pattern. If I am in the bedroom, he starts whining again until I help him up. In the old days when he was younger, he was capable of jumping in on his own, but now he needs an assist.
Sometimes I help him right away; sometimes I don't. One thing that is true is he is my shadow and if I leave the bedroom, he will jump out of the bed to follow me. I don't like that much stress on his old bones, so if I think I'm not done for the evening, I try to ignore him and let him stay on the floor.
There comes a time, though, that enough is enough. Cosmos's threshold of pain has been surpassed and it's time. He must go to bed and he must go to bed now. That time would be exactly 10:11 pm. I don't know how he knows, but somehow he has an internal mechanism that helps him recognize when the moment is upon us.
When I am home alone, at 10:11 he comes to me and I put him in the bed. I can then go on to do whatever is happening and he will stay put. But when Eric is over, it is a different matter.
Cosmos likes Eric well enough... after all, Eric feeds him treats from the table fairly regularly. No, the relationship is not like Eric & Sunny. Sunny worships the ground that Eric walks on and Cosmos is nothing if he is not a Mama's boy. But he's generally happy when Eric comes to visit.
That all changes at 10:11 pm. At that moment, Cosmos needs to go to bed but we have company. It is a dog's duty to monitor the activities of visitors and although I might put Cozie in the bed, he will not stay. Instead, he will jump out and cry and cry and cry, sounding like a rusty hinge and a squeeky spring in out-of-tune harmony, until I look at Eric in desperation - have I told you that Eric is a very good sport? - and ask if we can all go get into the bed together. And so the three of us trudge into the bedroom.
I put Cosmos in first, then Eric enters from the other side. Finally I get in and Cozie is the meat in the sandwich. We pet him from both sides and you'd think he'd be happy, but that is not the case. He does not approve of sharing his bed with Eric and makes no bones about it. He looks at Eric with distain and leans against me. He drapes himself over me... first his head over my neck and then his entire dog body over my abdomen. Finally he crawls over me to the mattress edge and leans against me on the far side of me from Eric, moaning underneath his breath. We will usually stay like that until Eric has to go home.
There was the evening recently that I had to get up to do something and leave the two of them in bed. To convey Cosmos's feelings in full, I think a picture is worth a thousand words. So here is your challenge. Eric is in the bed outside of the perimeter of the picture. Can you tell me what you think Cosmos is thinking?
Up at 8:30 to feed the dogs if I didn't do it earlier because by 8:30 am, Cosmos is crying like a baby, a miserable dog who's lament is that he is being starved to death. Immediately following breakfast, dogs go out again (or I take them for a walk if it's a good morning) because if I don't let them out, Sunny will stand at the door and bark at me until I do. In the meantime, Cosmos will be 1.) Peeing in his dog dish, 2.) Peeing in Sunny's dog dish, or 3.) Peeing in the doorway to the bedroom.
The daylight hours vary depending on what I have scheduled. Doctor's appointments are a constant, and on the days - a lot lately - that I'm not feeling so well, I spend a lot of time in bed. The dogs go in and out as they please when I'm home as I leave the front door open for their pleasure. (We have a front patio; I keep the gate to that locked so there are no mistaken escapes.)
11am is dog biscuit time. As is 12pm, 1:30pm, 4:00 pm, and then it's dinner by 6:00. It's the happy dog that gets fed the evening meal early and it happens occasionally. Especially on the evenings that I go to exercise class but also on those days that I don't want to listen to Cosmos's piteous whine about hunger.
The evening goes sporatically. Cosmos will follow me wherever I go in the condo (it's not very big), especially to the kitchen where he demands yet another biscuit for himself and his brother. And if he can get me to feed him directly from the refrigerator, he's even happier.
9:00pm, and it's time for the final walk of the day if I'm feeling well enough, or the final time in the yard if I'm not. Then comes a question of bed.
Cosmos is in favor of bed. He believes that the mattress in the middle of my bedroom with the sheets and pillows belongs to him. He will allow me to share it with him, but there is no question as to who is in charge.
When the evening constitutional is complete, he thinks that he should be put directly into the sleep mode. This belief has become worse as he becomes a - ahem - mature dog, but is an old pattern. If I am in the bedroom, he starts whining again until I help him up. In the old days when he was younger, he was capable of jumping in on his own, but now he needs an assist.
Sometimes I help him right away; sometimes I don't. One thing that is true is he is my shadow and if I leave the bedroom, he will jump out of the bed to follow me. I don't like that much stress on his old bones, so if I think I'm not done for the evening, I try to ignore him and let him stay on the floor.
There comes a time, though, that enough is enough. Cosmos's threshold of pain has been surpassed and it's time. He must go to bed and he must go to bed now. That time would be exactly 10:11 pm. I don't know how he knows, but somehow he has an internal mechanism that helps him recognize when the moment is upon us.
When I am home alone, at 10:11 he comes to me and I put him in the bed. I can then go on to do whatever is happening and he will stay put. But when Eric is over, it is a different matter.
Cosmos likes Eric well enough... after all, Eric feeds him treats from the table fairly regularly. No, the relationship is not like Eric & Sunny. Sunny worships the ground that Eric walks on and Cosmos is nothing if he is not a Mama's boy. But he's generally happy when Eric comes to visit.
That all changes at 10:11 pm. At that moment, Cosmos needs to go to bed but we have company. It is a dog's duty to monitor the activities of visitors and although I might put Cozie in the bed, he will not stay. Instead, he will jump out and cry and cry and cry, sounding like a rusty hinge and a squeeky spring in out-of-tune harmony, until I look at Eric in desperation - have I told you that Eric is a very good sport? - and ask if we can all go get into the bed together. And so the three of us trudge into the bedroom.
I put Cosmos in first, then Eric enters from the other side. Finally I get in and Cozie is the meat in the sandwich. We pet him from both sides and you'd think he'd be happy, but that is not the case. He does not approve of sharing his bed with Eric and makes no bones about it. He looks at Eric with distain and leans against me. He drapes himself over me... first his head over my neck and then his entire dog body over my abdomen. Finally he crawls over me to the mattress edge and leans against me on the far side of me from Eric, moaning underneath his breath. We will usually stay like that until Eric has to go home.
There was the evening recently that I had to get up to do something and leave the two of them in bed. To convey Cosmos's feelings in full, I think a picture is worth a thousand words. So here is your challenge. Eric is in the bed outside of the perimeter of the picture. Can you tell me what you think Cosmos is thinking?
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Educational Warning
I just want to thank everyone for all of the educational e-mails I've received over the past year.
Thanks to you, I no longer open a public bathroom door without using a paper towel.
I can't use the remote in a hotel room because I don't know what the last person was doing while flipping through the adult movie channels.
I can't sit down on the hotel bedspread because I can only imagine what has happened on it since it was last washed.
I have trouble shaking hands with someone who has been driving because the number one pastime while driving alone is picking their nose. (Although cell phone usage may be taking the number one spot.)
Eating a Little Debbie sends me on a guilt trip because I can only imagine how many gallons of trans-fats I have consumed over the years.
I can't touch any woman's purse for fear she has placed it on the floor of a public bathroom.
I must send my special thanks to whoever sent me the one about poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that needs sealing. Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.
I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.
I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.
I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.
I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.
I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.
Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.
Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.
I no longer can buy gasoline without taking someone along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.
I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put 'Under God' on their cans.
I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.
And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.
I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.
I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.
I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.
I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops.
I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore and Uzbekistan .
I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.
Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt.
And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.
I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!
If you don't send this in an e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician...
Have a wonderful day....
Oh, by the way..... A German scientist from Argentina, after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mail with their hand on the mouse. Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late.
(A special Thank You to Adele!)
Thanks to you, I no longer open a public bathroom door without using a paper towel.
I can't use the remote in a hotel room because I don't know what the last person was doing while flipping through the adult movie channels.
I can't sit down on the hotel bedspread because I can only imagine what has happened on it since it was last washed.
I have trouble shaking hands with someone who has been driving because the number one pastime while driving alone is picking their nose. (Although cell phone usage may be taking the number one spot.)
Eating a Little Debbie sends me on a guilt trip because I can only imagine how many gallons of trans-fats I have consumed over the years.
I can't touch any woman's purse for fear she has placed it on the floor of a public bathroom.
I must send my special thanks to whoever sent me the one about poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that needs sealing. Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.
I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.
I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.
I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.
I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.
I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.
Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.
Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.
I no longer can buy gasoline without taking someone along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.
I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put 'Under God' on their cans.
I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.
And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.
I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.
I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.
I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.
I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops.
I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore and Uzbekistan .
I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.
Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt.
And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.
I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!
If you don't send this in an e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician...
Have a wonderful day....
Oh, by the way..... A German scientist from Argentina, after a lengthy study, has discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mail with their hand on the mouse. Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late.
(A special Thank You to Adele!)
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Award!
As it happens on a regular basis, Adele called me last Friday to let me know that Ian was selected to win an award at his school. The presentation ceremony was the following Monday and I quickly committed to going. We didn't know if he had been selected to win an Academic award or one for Citizenship, but it mattered not. We were proud.As it turns out, Ian won both awards! Adele now has a "Proud Parent" bumper sticker to give to Daddy (she already had one on her car) as well as more to post on the refrigerator.
We went outside of Ian's classroom to await his release from class. Once he came out, we talked to him about a number of things and while in earnest discussion, another teacher came by and sharply addressed one of the many students in Spanish.
Ian was impressed. "That teacher is very smart because he knows how to speak in two languages," he said. "He sounds like he must have come from Mexico."
Adele looked at Ian. She quickly told him that he could speak more than one language if he wanted to, too. "Why don't you take a Spanish Class when you get into middle school?" she asked.
"I'd rather take French." he replied. "I've wanted to go to France for my entire life." Ian is eight.
"French? France?!?!" Adele retorted. "Why do you want to go there? The people smell because they don't take regular baths."
And then she looked Ian up and down. Shook her head. And sadly stated, "Ah, but yes. You don't like to take baths either."
Moo U
Pierce College - affectionatly known as "Moo U-" in the valley because of it's School of Agriculture - held it's annual Farm Walk last Sunday. I've participated as a volunteer in the sheep unit for many years, demonstrating hand spinning wool into yarn and assorted related crafts, but I never actually did the walk. That is, before this year.
Sheering the sheep. I tried to volunteer Miles for a hair cut too, but the woman actually took me seriously and conducted an in depth discussion about why the sheers used on a sheep would not be suitable for a little boy. Oy.
Gabby went on to her pool party at a Country Club, but Miles & I stayed and looked at the rest of the animals. Behind Miles is the "Moo" of "Moo U-"
I met Eric, Gabby, & Miles early in the morning, and we immediately set out for the Goat Unit. That required walking up a hill and around the corner, but it was pleasant and cool. There were many goats to visit, and the kids learned that a baby goat is a kid too.
We proceeded on to the Sheep unit where Gabby & Miles got the chance to pet a sheep in the wool. They were penned up and ready for the sheep sheering demonstrations to be held later in the morning.
Off down the nature path we went, when the kids made close contact with some of the ducks that habitate the pond at the base of the hill. I am not in favor of a meal of duck. Too greasy.
Back up to the Sheep unit where this woman talked about the process of shearing and preparing the wool for use. She got almost everything right except for the part about how she would deliver the wool just shorn to the spinners above and they would spin it for the audience.
Yeah, right. Not only are the Pierce breeds not suitable for the fine handspinning that my friends participate in, but the wool was greasy and dirty. Not much fun and as I hear it, the spinners told the Pierce people to bag it up and they would take it home. I didn't talk to them, but I'm guessing that it is going to make a direct trip to the compost pile.
Anyway, Elissa if you're reading, I posted this picture for you so you know who's doing your job now.
Sheering the sheep. I tried to volunteer Miles for a hair cut too, but the woman actually took me seriously and conducted an in depth discussion about why the sheers used on a sheep would not be suitable for a little boy. Oy.
Gabby went on to her pool party at a Country Club, but Miles & I stayed and looked at the rest of the animals. Behind Miles is the "Moo" of "Moo U-"
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Feelings
Today, Eric & I went to see the movie "Young at Heart." It was fabulous and I would highly recommend it to everyone reading this blog.
I wanted to see it not only for the critical acclaim that it has been receiving, but because Eric's usual choice in movies includes people being blown up, shot, or dying in all sorts of unsavory manners. My choice was billed as light hearted. Yes, I heard that one of the cast members dies, but I wasn't expecting them to fall like flies over the course of two hours. Even with death as an unbilled star though, it was a pleasure getting to know the old folks.
This particular movie was momentous for more than just the subject and content, though. Remember, because of weight and other emotional issues, I led a rather stunted life, especially on the dating scene. Believe it or not, Eric took me on my very first dinner-and-a-movie date! But the first movie we saw - I think - was American Gangster. That was not the type of movie that we would engage in date-like behavior. I.e. Eric feeling me up.
Every girl - even those like me - knows that being groped is a rite of passage. We know the procedure. The guys sit on our right, hands conspicuously in their lap. Then they feel an irresistable urge to stretch. Up straight out over their heads go their arms. They extend them fully to either side. And the one going out to their left drapes (accidentally) over our shoulder.
Now the scene is set. We're innocently watching the movie. Their hand begins to move. They're rubbing our arm and our shoulder and because they have not strayed into "forbidden" territory, we let them do it. Then the procedure varies depending on what kind of girl we are. If we are a "good girl,' when their hand goes astray and touches a breast (by accident of course - lol!), we elbow them and protest in righteous indignation. If we are a "bad girl,"we let them touch us. And so on and so on.
Well, I've been protesting to Eric for some time now that he has not been groping me. What's the deal? Is there something wrong with me? I reminded him of the above mentioned process, just in case he didn't know! (:D) He laughed but all we saw were war movies and it just wasn't appropriate.
All that changed today. Almost immediately after the flick started, he made his move.
"Congratulations!" I told him immediately, despite the "no talking" admonishment that appeared on the screen before the movie began. "It's about time!!!!!" And then I asked if I could announce it on my blog. Permission granted, I protested again. "You didn't follow due process. All you did was grab me."
So later in the movie he went through the prescribed motions. I checked with him again to be sure... yes, it was ok if I told you about it. So now I am proud to say at the ripe old age of 51, I have finally been shamelessly felt up in a theater.
I've been waiting my entire life for this moment.
I wanted to see it not only for the critical acclaim that it has been receiving, but because Eric's usual choice in movies includes people being blown up, shot, or dying in all sorts of unsavory manners. My choice was billed as light hearted. Yes, I heard that one of the cast members dies, but I wasn't expecting them to fall like flies over the course of two hours. Even with death as an unbilled star though, it was a pleasure getting to know the old folks.
This particular movie was momentous for more than just the subject and content, though. Remember, because of weight and other emotional issues, I led a rather stunted life, especially on the dating scene. Believe it or not, Eric took me on my very first dinner-and-a-movie date! But the first movie we saw - I think - was American Gangster. That was not the type of movie that we would engage in date-like behavior. I.e. Eric feeling me up.
Every girl - even those like me - knows that being groped is a rite of passage. We know the procedure. The guys sit on our right, hands conspicuously in their lap. Then they feel an irresistable urge to stretch. Up straight out over their heads go their arms. They extend them fully to either side. And the one going out to their left drapes (accidentally) over our shoulder.
Now the scene is set. We're innocently watching the movie. Their hand begins to move. They're rubbing our arm and our shoulder and because they have not strayed into "forbidden" territory, we let them do it. Then the procedure varies depending on what kind of girl we are. If we are a "good girl,' when their hand goes astray and touches a breast (by accident of course - lol!), we elbow them and protest in righteous indignation. If we are a "bad girl,"we let them touch us. And so on and so on.
Well, I've been protesting to Eric for some time now that he has not been groping me. What's the deal? Is there something wrong with me? I reminded him of the above mentioned process, just in case he didn't know! (:D) He laughed but all we saw were war movies and it just wasn't appropriate.
All that changed today. Almost immediately after the flick started, he made his move.
"Congratulations!" I told him immediately, despite the "no talking" admonishment that appeared on the screen before the movie began. "It's about time!!!!!" And then I asked if I could announce it on my blog. Permission granted, I protested again. "You didn't follow due process. All you did was grab me."
So later in the movie he went through the prescribed motions. I checked with him again to be sure... yes, it was ok if I told you about it. So now I am proud to say at the ripe old age of 51, I have finally been shamelessly felt up in a theater.
I've been waiting my entire life for this moment.
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