Wednesday, August 10, 2011


and me, do not mix.

It could be the history of getting shot in the eye and the mascara getting all messed up. It could be the curly hair that was painstakingling straightened and then became a frizzy, curly mess. It could be the fact that my peach margarita was spilled.

Today, it was the peach margarita that took the hit.

Picture the scene...on the beach (with two little boys -- what?! Did the "with the two little boys" give it away). Enjoying an awesome sunset while roasting hot dogs and making s'mores beachside and watching the waves roll in (I know, the perfect scene, right?!). Then whack, a watergun fight is declared and there goes the sanity that was encased in my margarita. Forget that it took out a hotdog too.

First instinct -- grabbed. the. drink. Didn't think to save Palmer's dinner. Poor little guy, he looked like he could miss a few meals and he'd still be ok (seriously, I'm kidding about this).

I guess it's a good thing I hardly drink. Else, I might have been REALLY upset. But, still, stupid waterguns. Nothing good ever comes from those things...except maybe when I get a hold of one and take down one of the boys...ok, that's funny (of's all fun and games until someone get's hurt and cries. and cries. geez)!

Darn waterguns. I left them at my Mother-in-Laws house (no humor in that whatsoever. nope. none.) Darn things WERE NOT RETURNING to Tennessee. EVER!

Beautifully Blessed and Truly Thankful to leave those stupid things in Florida,