Finally! A new mistress.

The search was exhausting.

The search was torment.

The search was arduous.

The search took us from sea to shining sea.

(By sea I mean tears...His wimpering and sniffling got old.)



But FINALLY, he has found the Perfect Girl to replace the tramp that plagued my life for far too long.



I may even partake in a menage trois now and then just to get the job done if need be!



Meet Red Toro. His new love.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I should have known you'd do a bang-up job. She's pretty. She's clean. She's respectable. And best of all her reputation is irrefutable. Congratulations Big Shooter on a fantastic choice.

It might just be a redneck date, if...

the entire 4 hours is spent perusing the aisles of Wal*Mart together.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Wooo Eeeee!! You sure can show a girl a good time! How'd I get so dang lucky??

Mooning on I-44

Have I ever told you about the time I mooned many passersby on Interstate 44?

Albeit unwillingly. But, mooned none the less.

Y'all know I'm really a Farm Girl from Idaho at heart. And Farm Girls have certain skills that most Citifieds wouldn't ever consider skills - until needed, of course. Like, pluckin' a chicken. Knowledge of irrigation. And the ability for quick, but modest, impromptu emptying of bladders out of doors.

Late one evening, before we were married, Big Shooter and I were traveling on a stretch of I-44 that has no rest stops for like a billion miles. Usually it's not a big deal. The problem was I'd drank the equivalent of a keg of ice tea while visiting Aunt Faye and Uncle Woodrow on their homeplace. I was new to Oklahoma and sweet tea. I didn't yet know that tea has a diuretic effect on me. An almost immediate effect.

My well thought out plan was to have Big Shooter pull to the side, turn off his lights, wait until there was a large gap between cars passing us and quickly take care of my business in front of his car where they couldn't see me. I had taken care of business in this manner 100s of times grownin' up. This would be no big deal. Just immediate, glorious relief. It would have worked out beautifully because the cars traveling in the opposite direction were also too far away to see anything either.

Unless the person you love,

the person you are betrothed to,

the one person in the world you trust more than any other...

slowly backs up the vehicle you are using as a privacy shield while you are, um... incapable of moving.

And then does this...

And the people traveling in both directions see this...

Big Shooter, obviously living in the same fantasy land he still visits often, thinks I'll have this reaction...

When, back in the real world, I have this one...

And then this one...

At which this point he realizes his dilemma.

He's afraid to let me back in the car because he's afraid for his life.

So he locks the doors.

Then he realizes that's not such a bright idea either because I simply turned heel and started walking down the road.

Back to Plainsville.

In the middle of the night.

On the side of I-44.

With him following me.

Slowly in the emergency lane.

With his lights shining on me.

Are you getting the picture?

Now he's realizing how this looks. That at any moment a State Trooper is going to pull over to investigate.

And he knows - I will have NO MERCY.

He's, once again, afraid for his life.

Smart boy.

Kinda.

After much begging, pleading, promising and apologizing - I finally got back in his car.

The next morning his car looked similar to this...

I'm kidding of course.

Kinda.

But that will have to wait for another post.

Love Note to my Big Shooter:

Dear Big Shooter,

Thanks for sending me the picture of the mooning ducks. They were adorable as could be. Brought back some fond memories. Made me take a stroll down Memory Lane. I love it when you send me emails in the middle of the day with a sweet note. Makes me feel loved and thought about. Feel free to send me more any time. I just file them under Blog Fodder...I mean, Notes from the Love of my Life. Have a fabulous day Sweetness. Can't wait for you to come home.

Lovies,

Straight Shooter

Once Upon a Time

There was a man who loved his new yard...But nothing compared to the love he had for his lawn mower.
He was exceptionally proud of his love affair.
He met her in a friend's garage. It was a meeting filled with hot anticipation and lusty secrecy.
He proudly brought her home. Only to find his wife very unaccepting of this dirty, dirty girl.
His testosterone ran high as he defended her honor and questionable class to his un-understanding wife.
He could not begin to comprehend why his thoughtless spouse could call her such hurtful names.
Ugly. Dirty. Used up. Unusable. And the worst, cheap.
On the inside, he knew these things to be true.
But, on the outside he fought for her a place in the palace garage.
His wife agreed.
With conditions.
He readily agreed to them.

• Wife would never, under any circumstances, have to touch the dirty, piece of trash.
• He would only bring her out from the back recess of the garage in the late evening hours when the light was fading and the neighbors had most likely retired to the AC of their homes.
• When she died, she would quickly be replaced by one with a...clean reputation.

For 14 years he abode by the conditions. Never once did he ask the wife to intermingle with the help. Not once did he bring her out into the light.

And then she died.

And the man has been heartbroken ever since.
His spirit is gone.
His lawn is in dire straights.
His pent up frustrations of the last 14 years are shining through.
He cannot/will not/refuses to honor the last condition.
His wife is tired of staring at this...

She has given him sufficient time to mourn the passing of his slutty mistress.

He, apparently, feels he needs more time.

The wife has heard from all the neighbors. They wonder what has happened to The Pride the man once had. She is too ashamed to tell them the truth.

She has asked politely, reminded gently, then whined and bitched.

She even asked to go look at replacements on the saint of all days, Mother's Day, knowing he could not refuse.

"O, Darling Husband, that I love with all my heart, please accompany me to Lowe's, Home Depot, Sears, and the nearest farmer's Co-Op to look for a respectable replacement for your dead girlfriend."

It may have been in the way she asked, but he actually thought of refusing her on the Saint of All Days...

Eventually he agreed. But each one had something "not right" about it.

Too small.Too much power.Just too much everything.

The wife was disappointed to say the least. Their yard will look like this very soon. She is out of sadistic, bribing, guilt-inducing ideas. She is begging/seeking/ your help.

Her desire is to have this man living in her home again.One who loves his yard.
And yes, his mower too.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I'll only give in and tell them the pics I've been posting are not really pictures of your yard...after you replace that sleazy tramp. Not a second before. Get over her already!

Dear Big Shooter, Happy Famiversary!

One year ago today we didn't know how long we'd have you.

Our family's future was on quicksand. And our minds were numb with fear.This year has been filled with extreme ups and downs, but not one day has passed that the three of us have not mentioned how grateful we are to still be a family that is whole and complete.

You are what makes us tick.

You are what makes us laugh.

You are what keeps us together.

You are this family.

Today is our family's Thanksgiving and we have been blessed beyond measure.

We want you to realize how precious and dear to our hearts the time you spend with us is.We love you.

Happy Famiversary Sledge!!

(thought I'd just throw in this picture of our little memorial to remind us of the passing of your kidney and the pesky cancer...the whole reason for Famiversary.)

Big Shooter's Fan Club

Here's my manly husband.

...in his wig.

Y'all know I lovingly call this character, Sledge.

Now, I unabashedly love Sledge.

Alot.

He's not at all like the boy I married.

I must have a hidden thing for rockers.

Trouble makers.

Law breakers perhaps.

Bad boys.

But it seems I am not the only one.

Here's how I know. Big Shooter sent in a couple pictures to the place he bought the wig from because they knew he was using it for Halloween and asked to see how he turned out.

He obliged.

And then the first few emails arrived from the owner of the wig business.

He explained he'd begun receiving inquiries about the hot rocker dude and thought it'd be fun for Big Shooter to know.

Here's the latest email:

From: WFP

To: Big Shooter

Sent: Fri Mar 13 11:56:14 2009

Subject: inquiries

Hi Big Shooter,

Just wanted to update you on your picture on our site, We still have a lot of women who email us to ask us who the handsome guy is. One lady wrote to ask if you were available, I told her that you are not...lol I do not and will not give them any information, but just thought that I would let you know that you have a fan club out there, Take care and thank you so much for your pictures. Say hello to your wife who helped set you up for the photos.

Al (WFP)

Now, Big Shooter would be flattered and more than likely get a big head like any other red-blooded man IF he hadn't already seen the majority of clientele photos for this particular business...

The following are just 6 reasons he's not all that flattered by Al's latest email.

(1)

(2)


(3)

(4)

(5)

And my personal favorite...

(6)

Wig wearer.

Rocker Dude.

Fan Club.

Transvestites.

Husband.

Nope.

Sledge is not anything like the boy I married.

That combination of words would have caused that boy to change his pants.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I love you Sledge. Alot.

"It smells a little like poo in here..."

"...or chicken...," Big Shooter quickly tried to backtrack when he entered the house and then realized I was cooking.

Too late.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: How was that yummy, plain noodle bowl for dinner Big Guy? The kids and I loved our chicken alfredo...

One Life Changing Word

Unconditional. Cancer. Yes. Salvation. Positive. Miscarriage. Boy. Girl.

Just a few of the words that have irrevocably altered my life in fantastic ways and crushing ways.

How about you? What one word changed your life forever...?

Big Shooter's List: Baby. Marriage. Malignant. Survivor. Blackberry.

Which would you rather?

• Know boundless love from a beautiful man?

OR

• Know beautiful love from a bound man?

Love Note to my Big Shooter: So glad I don't have to choose, you are my beautiful, bound man...Rrrr.

Things I love about Straight Shooter

Hey ya'all
It is I, big shooter. Yup the one and only, the man of your dreams, Master of my universe and best friend to myself.

I was trying to leave a comment on one of her posts and as luck would have it she caught me and is forcing me to do a whole freakin post myself. And she said if you don't title it "Things I love about Straight Shooter" she would cut out my last kidney and feed it to BDP.

So here goes

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT STRAIGHT SHOOTER

1. She is the kindest, sweetest, gentlest serial killer I know.
2. She is creative and funny. You should see some of the crap she comes up with.
3. She is an awesome mom to the kids that claim they are mine.
4. She is the Queen of bloggy freekdom and you are her serfs.
5. She has awesome taste in men, which makes me wonder why she married me.
6. She is cute as a June Bug. That is a compliment in okiehoma.
7. She can cook up a storm, and I can show you the pictures to prove it. We may never get the sauce off the ceiling.
8. She lets me win at card games. At least that is what she tells herself.
9. She is the best housekeeper in the world. Yeah i am lying on that one.
10. She is the light of my life, and i can't imagine my world without her.

Well there you have it bloggy freaks. My heartfelt and romantic reasons why I love S.S. I know it brings tears to your eyes. Hey what can I say, I am just a big teddy bear wrapped up as a Rock God.

Big Girl 40th Birthday Sleep Over

I titled this post so blase' because when we, er...Big Shooter, was looking for party ideas out there in Google Land we could not seem to find what we were looking for.

Of course with this title I'll get the pervs who think they are coming to a porn site for partying fat chicks too... But hey, I'm an equal opportunity helper of others.

I think this post may be a big fat let down for some who have been dying to hear how it went with pictures as the evidence. But I didn't even take my camera out of it's case.

I am feeling the pain today about that little indiscretion too.

What was I thinking?!? Obviously, I wasn't. The only time I remembered it was when we were playing The Plunger game, but when I said the word camera...I was threatened with bodily harm. The scary part for me was - they were dead dog serious about ripping me from limb to limb if I even thought about it. So I didn't and now, of course, wish I would have lived life on the edge and snapped a few...

Here's the only one I took the whole weekend.

I'll take you through the games and guests and everything in the picture should be covered in one way or another...


It began with a name tag with 3 different lines. On the first was their christened name. On the second they wrote where they knew me from. (A couple used this to their full advantage since so few knew each other. One put rehab and another put AA.) The third line asked for a name of a childhood pet and either their momma's maiden name or a street from their childhood. (Ex: mine was PoPo Brown. Sashi's was Snowball 169.) These, as was later revealed, were their Adult Entertainer names... We had a tie. There was a dance-off and the author of yesterday's post the virtuous, the responsible Podcastin' Cyndi won the prize.

Then came a few games:
Guess Who consisted of me sticking a famous person's name on each woman's back. (Oprah, Cinderella, Mother Teresa, Jezebel, etc.) They could only ask yes/no questions to figure out who they were. The only snafu here was I totally thought Jezebel was like a hootchie, hot momma kinda girl and assigned her name to my friend who very much is a hot momma...only to find out Jezebel is no such girl. Hmmm, maybe I should read that bible, not just use it as a bookend. The game was fun none the less. Those girls were serious about finding out who they were. It turned out to be a fabulous ice breaker.

There was a Momma Purse Scavenger Hunt. The most bizarre item found in a momma's purse was a very nice Cuban cigar in a nice little metal case...hmmm. I am not sure if it's origin, intended purpose or even if it's alternative purposes was fully explained by the end of the evening either.


There was a wine glass passed around full of questions to be answered by both a guest and the birthday girl. That was interesting. That was enlightening. And that was embarrassing...er um, bonding. We learned nicknames of family members and, ahem, body parts. We laughed hysterically at some's stories and answers. We empathized for one who answered the last time she cried had been the day before when it was confirmed indeed she was not pregnant as she so wants to be. We cringed, we snorted, we guffawed and we grinned. It was fabulous girl bonding at it's finest.

As Podcastin' Cyndi pointed out there was a wide range of individuals there. Just the way I love it. There was indeed a pastor's wife, a biker chick, a urban socialite, a factory worker, a Kansas farm girl and a classical educator. But there was also a Martha Stewart type, an incredible artist, a liberal or two, a former news anchor, a doctor's wife, a gym coach, a child counselor and a former nurse. All walks of life. All my dearest friends. I missed so many others this weekend that all I keep thinkin' is..."We'll have to do this again. And soon."

Even though Sledge's pleather pants, spiked jewelry and rock star wig are in the picture he, very sadly, didn't make it to the party. He did, however, make it to the lake later in the weekend. And that's all I'm saying about that.

I liked this last photo because Girl Child's comment when she saw it was, "...it's like you're looking past your birthday Momma...into your future."

Oh the words of wisdom that escape a babe's precious lips...

I am indeed looking forward to my future.

Thank you friends.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: And thank you Big Guy. What fabulous, bonding memories I will cherish for a lifetime. I am so truly blessed with deep, rich friendships.

Love Note to Sledge: RRRrrrr....

Gone to a Big Girl Sleep Over...

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Thanks Love. From the looks of things on my end, I believe a grand time is going to be had by all! If I haven't said it lately ~ I appreciate you and all you do for me... I'll show you how much when I return. Wink-a-wink. Grrrrr. Hubba, hubba. BOI-BOI-ING! (those were all my hootchie, hootchie sound effects in case you were wondering...)

(Insert that upside down women symbol thingy here)

Big Shooter has been planning a Big Girl Sleep-Over at the lake in celebration of my fourth decade. (Y'all know where my tongue is planted with that loaded statement, right? That's correcto-mungo, in my fat cheek.)
So far he's done an awesome job.
He's come up with several things. (I don't want to share them though because many of the guests read this here blog occasionally.)
But, he's a little dubious about what to have available to pass the time.
He wanted me to ask you Girls.
His words were, "Ask the other side for me please. Tell them I need girly. I need racy. I need nerdy. I need funny. I need emotional...and apparently I need ovaries to plan this kind of party."
Instead of agreeing with his last statement, I agreed to ask you all this instead:
"What ideas do you have in mind for a girls night in?"
He says, "Thanks. You're saving my hide...I mean pride."

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I am not sure whether to laugh or cry at your sincerity of my party planning. On one hand I am crackin' up watchin' you sweat it out. And on the other hand, I am touched at the thoughtfulness. But honestly, I'm mostly crackin' up. If you could see the discomfort, the agony of dealing with all these women, the stress of choosing the correct colors, a menu, the logistics of that many women sleeping under one roof... if you could see it, you'd be on the floor too.
Thank you Big Shooter. I love you.
Love. You.

Git'r Done, Valentine

Love was in the air.

Hearts were a flutter.

Eyes were a flame.

...and camo was everywhere.

Larry the Cable Guy took my breath away...

cause I was laughin' so damn hard!

This was Big Shooter's idea of a perfect Redneck Valentine Date.

I never knew just how redneck I was until I realized how much I can relate to Larry...Now that's some sad state of affairs my friends. Sad.

Thank you for the grand time on the town Love. I especially loved the part of the evening we realized we did not in fact have sweet suite tickets... Wasn't that nice of those people to share several adult beverages, wings, and more adult beverages with complete strangers? Dating you is never boring.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Before anyone asks for clarification I think we should give it to them now don't you Love? So yep, we mistakenly walked right into the #12 suite, instead of the #12 section. Yep, we just acted like we were suppose to be there (because we thought we were). Yep, we drank their booze, ate their food and laughed our butts off with complete strangers. And yep, loved every minute of it! Now that I think about it, that was redneck wasn't it? (sigh...) I love you Bubba.

Big Shooter sheds Some Light

...on himself.

Note from Straight Shooter: Y'all, I was very leery of this post. I watched out of the corner of my eye while he answered. There was lots of smilin' goin' on. Lots of chuckles (the diabolical kind) and his fingers tapped tapped at the keyboard so fast I was amazed. In the end, he was true to his personality and cracked at least himself up!


Flea asked: How did BS propose? Did he?

Technically i did propose...but it was a fight to do it on my terms. S.S. is a romantic, i am not. S.S. is aggressive and take charge, me - not so much. But I have my ornery side so I made her wait. She thought it would happen at Christmas, it did not. She thought it would happen on valentines day, again you guessed it bloggy freaks, it did not. I took my own sweet time, and did it only after I knew I had waited as long as I possibly could. Ya see if I had waited any longer she would have moved to Australia. (not joking on that point) But when it did happen, it was totally stupendous. The only thing that detracted from the romance was I forgot to take the toothpick out of my mouth. Ohhh and BTW she said yes. But she had to because unbeknownst to me she already had the date, church, flowers, preacher, and cake arranged. I told you she is a tad aggressive. Now more interesting than the proposal was the honeymoon. But that is a totally different story.

Dawn asked: What is your idea of the perfect date?

Ya'all do know that I am a man right? In spite of popular belief, men do not have perfect anything. I am a fly by the seat of my pants, whatever S.S. thinks is fun I will endure type guy. And I keep my mouth shut when I am not having fun. You see S.S. reads serial killer novels and could dispose of my body in about 1000 ways. So my perfect date consists of waking up the next morning. And beer.

FIL: Would love "Big Shooter to tell us how do you gut a deer?"
I need to take this opportunity to inform all the bloggy freaks that I was severely abused growing up. I have never dealt with this subject openly, but it is about time that the truth comes out. I was the only male child growing up with a mom and two sisters. Alone in the world so to speak. Then God saw fit to give me a father figure. Unfortunately I got a sadistic, evil, maniacal, individual whose sole purpose in life was to wreak havoc with my poor tortured soul. Ya see I was not raised as a hunter, so I looked to my elders to educate me properly in the art of killing innocent animals. FIL took it upon himself to perpetuate the abuse, by publicly asking this question. As a right of passage, young men who kill must also clean the trophy. I have no problem with that. It is only fair, it is the way our ancestors did it. BUT.... our ancestors were never told to clean the kill in the fashion that my sick and twisted father instructed me too. He is so evil!!!! You see I was told that the last step in guttin the poor dead animal that I just blew away in a very heinous way and to keep the meat from getting contaminated by deer dung was to stick my finger up its anus and to cut around my finger. I learned this when I was 14, I did not learn that this was total BS until I was 24.
So FIL I have a finger held up in the air for you, I bet you know which one.

Dear F.ather I.n L.aw also wants to know: "Have you ever shot your sister with a B.B. gun?"

Yeah but she totally deserved it, and I would do it again if I had the chance. It is the only way in which I could deal with knowledge that I had my finger in a deer's anus.

FarOutMom asked just a few questions:

I want to know where he buys his right sexy glasses?

At Studs R Us. I get a discount.

Does he still do that hissing noise when he speaks of one pair of his glasses?

COBRA....pssss pssss.

Where is the wig that he wore in the above picture?

Sitting by my bed ready to be worn during emergency stripper incidents. You never know when a bachelorette party is in need. Now I just need one of those Bat Caves with the cool poles you slide down. You know the kind when you get to the bottom you miraculously are transformed into your super-alter ego. Just call me ROCK-MAN!!!!!

Does he wear it to work? Or anywhere? And try to pass it off as his own?

No need to pass it off as my own. No one recognizes me when I wear it. I will say that most people that see it are afraid - very afraid.

Does he wear the pleather pants on any occasion? Say, Friday nights? wink-wink
Only when S.S. coughs up the cash. I may be easy, but I am not cheap. Or is it I am cheap but not easy.... I forget. Besides pleather is not good for the wink-wink, do you know how hard it is to get out of those things?? If you are not careful you can seriously hurt yourself. And baby I am not a starfish, those things don't grow back.

BS, can your wife come to KC for a weekend since I can't make it there for her birthday this year?
Of course, but she has to bring the kids with her. I have a wig and tattoos....I got places to be that are not appropriate for the crumbs.

Can I have some Arby's coupons?
You sure are demanding, how about I just send you cash, or maybe you would prefer a new car.

Will you write a post about some of the antics that S.S. doesn't tell us about?
S.S. scares me. I love her dearly and would never tell her secrets. And she scares me.

Are you still in the screen printing business?
Nope, but I did sleep at a Holiday Inn Express last night.

Are these questions to boring?

Sorry what did you say? I fell asleep for a bit.

Have you ever split your pants in public?
Did you say split or Sh**? Yes to both. But I have had cancer so shame on you for asking.

Have you ever stolen a road sign?
I prefer to say I borrowed it indefinitely. Along with cash and cars. Obama calls it redistribution of wealth....who am I to disagree.

Have you ever egged or tp'd a house?

I would never waste TP like that. It is a gift from the Gods. Eggs on the other hand are just hard, white chicken poop. So i am cool with it.


Christine asked: Was your Halloween costume actually the one time last year you got to be yourself? C'mon, you can tell me!

If you only knew how close that costume is to the real me you would never allow me around Pete again. If I could, I would wear it every day!!!!! Except the pleather, it tends to chaff a bit. But such is the price for being a ROCK GOD!!!!!!

Love Note to my Big Shooter: This was fun. This was a great break in the same ole, same ole. Thank you for doin' it. heh, heh. I said, "doin' it". I guess all that pleather talk got me thinkin'. I'll meetcha in the Bat Cave...near the pole you mentioned...

The Ask Big Shooter Post

Every coupla weeks I get an email asking questions about Big Shooter. Last week, I had one asking about his blog name compared to his real name. Many times they ask how we met or what our marriage is really like. Did he really write the love letter to me? Once someone asked if he likes fried chicken...

So I figured I'd see if there's anything you'd like to ask him? Or me...about him? He's agreed to answer any questions you might throw his way. Which, honestly, scares me.

Bad.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I just have two words to say/remind you of ~ Family Blog.

Fact of the Day: When it comes to tornadoes, the U.S. rules the world. Literally. We average 700 a year. There are only two states who do not have them on a regular basis: Alaska and Rhode Island. I thought that was pretty interesting. I knew Okie-homa would be high on the list. We were. 56 is our average. But, the great state of Texas whoops us each year. Their average? 124. Holy.Cow.

"Hello Principal Shooter? Yeah (fake cough), I need a sub today..."

I figure that's what I may need to do after Big Shooter's misplaced words of yesterday's post.

Silly man. He has no idea what is about to be set before him!

(This would be BS after, oh say 10 minutes, of teaching the Crumbs...)

My mom does.

And she won't do it again.

Be my substitute.

When Big Shooter came home from the little surgery in which they cut him in half and removed a cancer ridden organ and I was still fulfilling his fantasy of servant, I mean nurse, my very brave momma agreed to teach the Crumbs for me a couple days so they wouldn't get too far behind.

Picture of Brave Momma teaching the Crumbs

How'd that turn out?

Wellll, let me ask you what you were like when you walked into class and saw an easy target - a.k.a. a substitute teacher?

It went about this good:

I'm just pulling your leg. Well, about the easy target substitute part....

And now speaking of school, I have decided since a majority of my days are taken up with school I would like to share a little fact each day. Starting with today.

Where were you when...?

...this happened 23 years ago today?

I was a junior in Chemistry class. And I can hear President Reagan's words in my head to this day, "...when they slipped the surly bonds of this Earth and touched the face of God."

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Sorry to dampen your mood in the end Big Guy. I have another fact you might find enjoyable. Cause I think it's a guy thing? Yesterday (when I wanted to start a Fact a Day), Thomas Crapper, the guy who invented...well, you know, would have been 99 years old.

Errector muscles, goose bumps & public school...

When Big Shooter asked the kids what they'd learned in school the other day...
We, all three, enthusiastically explained we learned what causes goose bumps!
(Do you already know?)
There's a little, teeny-weeny, microscopic muscle at the base of each and every hair on your body. When a stimulus is applied (like temperature or fear) it contracts and pulls the hair erect into an upright position!
The muscle is called arrector pili.
Now at this point I could go down the road you think I am dying to go down...and the truth of it is, I am dying to bring up the fact that there are millions of teeny-weeny, microscopic muscles that sole job, when stimulated of course, is to cause millions of teeny-weeny erections...

But, I'm not. I am going to share the rest of the conversation with Big Shooter instead.

When we were all done enthusiastically explaining the reason for goose bumps, he looked at me questioningly and asked with amusement, "Are you serious? You didn't know that?"

"Uhhh, no. I didn't." (Did y'all? Am I alone in my ignorance?)

He looked at me and very seriously said, "I'm a little concerned...maybe they should go to public school."

So I am dying to know if you all knew about this most humorously named muscle that only needs a little stimulation to cause an erection?? Cause if you all do, he's right, they need to go elsewhere besides the kitchen table to be educated.

If you didn't know about the erector muscles (I love saying it), aren't you just the littlest bit curious to know how Big Shooter knows all about them?

Yeah, me too.

Love Note to my Big Shooter: I don't know what to say here Big Guy. I don't want the words teen-weeny or microscopic or erector muscle in your love note...so I am just going to be moseyin' on now...

"Uh...No officer, I don't know how fast I was going."

I am not exactly sure why he is smiling...

Those little slips of paper he is holding?

Why they'd be OHP Warnings.

2 of 'em.

2 days apart.

Yep.

One on the 16th

And...

One on the 18th.

Did I mention he got an actual speeding ticket a month before?

Oh, I didn't?

Well, he did.

And obviously, he didn't learn a thing from that experience.

I consider this a most embarrassing moment for him.

I don't think he does so much.

Maybe that's the whole problem.

Maybe a little razing or public ridicule will help drive the point home...?

Most likely that won't either. He'll just drive my daily visitor counter up while he obsessively checks the comments to see what you have to say about him.

So what say you to Lead Foot?

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Girl Child was right. At least the flashing lights were pretty at night...

I broke a CHICK cardinal rule.

Once upon a time there was a Young Maiden and a Gallant Suitor.

They suited for 5 1/2 years.

Then they wedded.

Many blissful TINK years went by. (two income no kids)

Then one day the Young Maiden gave birth to the first Crumb Snatcher.

She was awakened from her pleasant dream world abruptly.

She noted her youth fading.

She noted her girth increasing.

And alas, she noted her memory lapsing.

This last fact was the most disheartening. For she wanted more than anything to remember all she had experienced with her Suitor...and of course, his spawn.

When ever fate would grant her an opportunity to celebrate with him, she grabbed it with both hands.

Their favorite celebrated day was the anniversary of their union.

They loved the season.

They loved the spirit that surrounds it.

They loved ditchin' the Crumbs.

One day, several weeks after their last celebration. The Maiden was pondering their union.

If one was spying on her thru the window pane, one would have seen first a look of puzzlement. Then astonishment. Then a full throttle belly laugh from deep within.

For when her Gallant Suitor came to see what she found humorous she asked, "How long, O Love of my Life, have we been blessed in this union?"

She laughed even more heartily when he replied with a flourish and exuberant flair, "Why 17 glorious years My Pet."

You see dear one, as she had lay earlier pondering her union, she realized they had celebrated their 17th Blessed Year...and they had only been bound for 16.

As she began to explain the fact to Suitor Man, he guffawed and snorted for he remembered they had celebrated their 16th the year before when in actuality it was the big 15 milestone instead!

The Suitor shook his head and with a dead serious face whispered these loving words, "Wuh-ow! Sure glad it wasn't me that screwed that one up!! Forgetting your own anniversary is like a huge cardinal sin isn't it?? Or at least a death wish..."

Love Note to my Big Shooter: Wow, times flies when you're havin' fun!!