*yawn*

It's been a boring day. I could have made it an exciting day but for some reason I chose not to. I did talk to Mama who told me, "My iron broke. I'm calling Daddy to tell him to stop and buy me a new one on the way home. That'll save me a trip in town." Poor Daddy! Now she has him buying an iron? Somehow that seems fiendish of her -- I mean, an iron? However, those two have been together so long obviously they got it going on a whole lot better than the rest of us!

I found an image today that so looks like Legs:

Minus the snow, of course. Legs knows nothing of snow and I doubt she will anytime soon in the lovely south.

At least my parents haven't been obvious about ragging on me about getting married lately. Daddy did buy tickets for the PBR Championships this coming Saturday night, which is a subliminal message -- my penchant for cowboys and cops is known far and wide -- but at least they haven't been hounding me lately. Why would I get married? It's insane! Look at some of our cool single role models:
* Catwoman: Single.
* Buddha: Single.
* The Lone Ranger: Single.
Why limit myself to being dissatisfied by one relationship when I can be dissatisfied by an infinite variety? There’s no such thing as a Stepford Single Woman. I guess I prefer being a guest star instead of a series regular. Along the same lines ...

How to Spot a Potentially Bad Date:

Every woman can relate to the disappointment of a bad date. Not every woman knows how to weasel out of a bad date. Fewer still know the secrets of spotting a potentially bad date. Here is a handy checklist to help you avoid any bad dates in the future.

Grey Flannel Sweat Pants. Nothing says low self-esteem to a woman like a man in sweat pants.
He is wearing fuzzy slippers. No good can come of this.
He insists on bringing his pet on the date. It is a yapping toy poodle. You are going to the opera.
He asks that you to dedicate the date to Beetlejuice.
In an all-you-can-eat buffet line, He proclaims loudly, “You don’t have all I can eat!”
He casually mentions “scoring crack” as a hobby.
NASCAR t-shirt and mullet. Enough said.
His Adam’s Apple is as large as, well, an apple.
He answers every question with a question.
At the date’s onset, he calls his wife to tell her he will be “Out all night with my gay friend.”
He invites you to a Flat Earth Society Meeting.
The knuckles of both his hands are tattoed with the word hate.
He has a coat-hanger antenna hat to ward off psionic death rays from Sirius.
He tells you to wait in the car and keep it running as he dons a ski mask and runs into his bank.
He asks if you been recently vaccinated for Black Plague.
He appears visibly pained by the sun and hisses when confronted with a cross or garlic.
All of his internal organs are external.
His tattoos speak at night.
He insists on eating off the floor without the use of utensils. Or his hands.
Constant references to his ex-wives, all of whom died mysteriously.
He has a significant other ... Siamese Twin.
He mentions that his chicken dinner tastes, “Just like human!”

Yup, I've been on a lot of dates, most of them bad. Very, very bad.