Annie's Misadventures

Well I hope Mom had a good time in Maine this weekend; suffice to say she did not have the best luck with stuff during a few instances this weekend. This morning at about 6, she awoke to let Chelsea out to go the bathroom. Amanda and I were upstairs with the door closed and the air conditioner on. The Kranthony's were down in the den with two turbo fans running. This left Mom on the middle floor all by herself. Not realizing that the door was locked behind her, she shut it, thinking that all was good. Only after Ms. Monroe did her business on the lawn did Mom realize she was locked out. And no one knew it. And no one could hear her. First, she leaned on the doorbell for about ten minutes. Obviously, no one heard. Then, she took my pair of clogs and banged incessantly on the hollow wooden step for fifteen minutes. Obviously, no one heard. What you need to remember, however, is that Chelsea Monroe barked without stopping during all the banging and ringing. No one heard. Well, all our neighbors woke up probably. Eventually, she walked into the backyard and took a rock and started banging on the basement window by where Kranthony was sleeping. I dont know why she needed a rock, but that is another story. She frightened Kristie half to death, but she got back inside.

Part Two . . . .

Mom has been talking about having fried dough for the past two weeks. She even went and got a new electric skillet and brought it up. Understand, this is all the woman has been talking about. We had really violent thunderstorms up here, so we "set up shop" in the garage, where there was a nice cross breeze. It was a very white trash fried dough party; it was like we were at the fair. We are getting progressively more cultured; last time it was the bonfire in the wheelbarrow, and this time it was fried dough in the garage. The fried dough was delicious and everything was going great. Then, for some reason still unknown to me, Mom comes out and was adamant that we unplug the frying pan. She was afraid Chelsea would knock it over I think, even though Chelsea had been out with us for the past half hour. In the process of unplugging the pan, she knocked the entire skillet off the table, dumping three-quarters of a bottle of hot Wesson on the floor of the garage. She then proclaimed in a calm voice, "I dont like it out here. Goodbye." Luckily, Thomas was right there and suggested he use litter from his busybox to rub all over the oil to absorb some. Thanks Thomas, for always putting other's needs before your defecation habits!