Salsa. Spinach. Hummus. Claudia breezes in, looking her usual fabulous self. “Hello,” we three dippers greet her in chorus. We continue in song, “How are you?” Claudia reaches for a chip and replies, “We’re great! Really great.” Two dippers leave: sushi in sight. It’s just her and me. I wonder how her new job is going: “So, how…” She inadvertently interrupts, “Don’t you hate arriving at parties after fighting with your husband the entire drive there?” I shove a chip carrying spinach dip worthy of two chips into my mouth and sound out, “Mmm hmm…mmm.” She adds, “Rusty Fork.” Unable to articulate “Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout Willis” in food mumble, I resort to head tilting and eye squinting. Her mind-reading expertise unclouded by her frustration she continues, “You know, because when you’re stuck in a car arguing with your husband, you just want to stick a rusty fork in his forehead.”

Pause.

We erupt into Fran Drescher-like cackle. Doubly attractive with incisors covered in spinach.

This blog is intended to stick a rusty fork in the mundane and have a little fun talking about a host of ideas, thoughts, while haivng some fun. Maybe my writing will even improve!