Guest Blogging By the Lawn Whisperer
Hello bloggers. I am not as talented as Bill when it comes to writing. I do not have the same cynical outlook on all life related things. I have an entirely different cynical outlook. I will try to keep you interested over the next couple of days, but if you lose interest, I will not be offended, as I do not know any of you.
I am actually the middle child in the family. I am the fifth of nine. Bill is the sixth of nine. Bill likes to take the middle child thing and run with it. So, I don’t even get that. See, the middle child, getting screwed again. The only thing that I truly am, and someone has to try and take credit for it. I mean seriously, can’t I be overlooked and forgotten all by myself? My entire life I was lost in the shuffle, and here I am in my mid 30’s and I can’t even be the middle child, all alone. Lost again.
Poop and Boogies is true. We ate that every night. The funny thing about eating poop and boogies is that it tastes like chicken. That’s right. Chicken.
From my vantage point growing up, it seemed like we had chicken every day. We had Roasted Chicken. We had Grilled Chicken. We had Chicken and Dumplings. We had Chicken and Stuff. We had Chicken Soup. You get the point; we ate so much chicken, that I no longer like chicken. Now, our mom is a good cook, (that’s my disclaimer in case Mom is reading this.) but why so much chicken?
Now, I married a woman that does not cook. She does not cook, and she won’t even be mad at me for telling the world that. Here’s the kicker, the only thing she does cook is Chicken. I certainly did not marry her for her cooking, but give me a break. She cooks chicken ten different ways. That is the ten times a year that she cooks. So my kids ask her, “Mom, what is this we are eating?”
I tell them, “It’s poop and boogies. You’ll like it. It tastes like chicken.”