Monday, May 16, 2005

Comedy is Genetic. I Have Proof. Alternate Title: "Fluff Cups"

Noodle thinks I'm hilarious. I can make the stupidest joke ever... Make a face... Use the word "fart" in any sentence... Just tell her to "stop it" no matter what the occasion and it will crack her up.

On Mondays she gets out early so today I picked her up and we went to Ft. Belvoir to the Commissary (otherwise known as the Seventh Circle of Hell).

On the way we got sidetracked and stopped at the Exchange to pick up some mascara and lipgloss for me. But because she's a charmer and laughs at all my jokes, no matter the level of juvenality (in my head, that's a word), she walked out of there with 2 shirts, 3 pair of socks and candy. And a big grin on her face.

That girl can work me. She is crack to my ego. She makes me think I am MUCH funnier than I actually am, thus encouraging me further and exposing the greater population to my particular (peculiar?) brand of hilarity.

Bottom Line: Blame the curly-head.

Super-Duper Bottom Line: We don't care if YOU think we're funny. We're too busy cracking ourselves up.

(Late hour edit: She was just putting the whites into the dryer and came up and asked me, "Can your fluff-cups be put into the dryer?" All I could do is sit here and laugh. "Fluff-cups"? Are you kidding me?

I thought the bra was all euphemismed-out: Tit-Slings... Over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder... Breast bucket... Flopper stopper... Double-barrel sling shot... Nylon milk pails... Booby trap... (I had to look some of these up)

But no one had ever thought of "Fluff-cups"!

That's my girl - contributing to the greater good.)

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