It is day two of Mrs. Crappy Weekend, and I for one hope it is delightful and full of back rubs and beer — or really, for whatever she wants. For this wonderful proclamation, and setting things into motion, Uncle Crappy is on my list for Husband of the Year.
If you are or have a husband, it’s not too late. There is a lot of year left! Just read or slip them my PSA and PSA II for encouragement, information, and guidelines on being an even better husband.
I also want to comment on the awesome-ness of Pittsburgh bloggers via the Iron(ic) Chef Cookoff, which also involved an Uncle Crappy.
I don’t go in for crabcakes myself, but DearDR loves them. It’s hard to get a good one in the ‘burgh, as many of you probably know. Lots o’ filler, very little crab. When we went to Baltimore a few years back (back in the dating days, when my little sister lived there), I think over the course of two days he had about four or five crabcakes. Real, crab-filled crabcakes. It was a little piece of nirvana for him.
And don’t you just love how I called my 34-year-old sibling “little”? That’s kind of awesome.
It is Saturday, and I must get a move on.
in the meantime, here’s a post about underwear. But not the fun kind. You may learn more about how (or if) your favorite blogger folds underwear than you strictly needed to know.
Monkey and I were talking about when she was born (which started because she wanted to know if it was her birthday).
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “I had a long dream about when I was born. It was good.”
“I’m glad,” I answered.
“I didn’t cry at all,” she continued. “Well, I cried a little. But it was okay.”