Hello. I’d like to introduce myself. I’m Mrs. Fool. This is my husband, Mr. Fool, and our son, Fluffy, the only one with a brain.
We Fools like to bid on very very old and expensive houses and then give notice to our landlady, spend many hundreds of dollars on inspections that extend until the last day we have to back out of our contract and then do that: back out.
We then like to back out of giving notice to our landlady, only our landlady is not a fool and when she hears her tenants are leaving, she goes ahead and rents the place.
See the Fools dangle. Dangle, Fools, dangle!
We must vacate this house by the end of June and move into…some other place. To be determined. Some other day. Not today. But soon. We hope.
See the Fools hope. Hope, Fools, hope!
In other news, I don't have breast cancer, Fluffy lost BOTH top front teeth and now looks like a miniature, super friendly vampire-in-training, and yesterday, a neighborhood boy came over for the third time this week to ask if his friend, Fluffy, could play.
His friend, Fluffy!
I lunged for him, snapping him over the threshold by his madcap Dennis the Menace cowlick and before you could say Tickle Me Typical, the two of them were outside bouncing on the trampoline. With supervision, of course.
Now, I'm no expert but the mama gut tells me this boy was, as MOM-NOS says, from France. He's in fourth grade (Fluffy's in first), he spouts non-sequiturs, enunciates everything as if this is all being recorded and is overwhelmingly drawn to the adults, the things, and the one-sided conversation but so what? He comes over to play with his friend, MY SON!
This mom is thrilled. Yet, when taken with the first part of this story, the development simply adds fodder to aforementioned foolishness of the Fools since very soon, he will be a neighborhood boy no longer.