tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9016876.post-10292035345768276802008-07-01T12:42:00.004-05:002008-07-01T12:48:44.824-05:00I remember when we decided to move out into the country. Most of us were excited. Not Middle Chicken.<br />We arrive at the house and everyone scatters to explore. MC makes a circuit. She starts in the kitchen. Loops through all the bedrooms. This happens about seven times. Finally I stop her.<br />"What's wrong?"<br />MC: "Where's the phone?"<br />"There is no phone."<br />"WHAT? How am I supposed to call my friends???"<br />Needless to say, she was disgusted with the whole idea.<br />Fast forward a bit.<br />We were watching Dateline NBC or 20/20 or hell...ONE of those news shows. And they were talking about Amish kids.<br />MC and BC don't have a clue about the Amish. So I proceed to let them know that it's a very old-fashioned existence. They don't have electricity. They don't have music players. They ride in buggies. <br />MC looks at me very plainly disturbed and says, "Yeah. And they're DYING inside."<br />I had to laugh.<br />Must've sounded like the third level of hell to her.<br />She's always popping off something very clever and snarky. I'll take credit for some of that. But every once in awhile, she'll say something so hilarious, I fear that I will wet my pants.<br />Case in point: MC and BC were in the living room talking. Just chit-chatting. NOT fighting, thank God. Because that's the norm.<br />And out of the blue, MC looks at BC and says, "Your hair looks like the Mayor of Whoville."<br />O<br />M<br />G<br />This STILL cracks me up.<br />Never a dull moment, let me tell ya.<br />Grins*Crystal*http://www.blogger.com/profile/06689150836320685611noreply@blogger.com