To recap…

Did you have a lovely Thanksgiving?

I’m only asking to be polite.  I don’t really care.

I had a great week.  Our best friends, Audrey Hepburn, Señor Tiny Junk and their children, came to spend the week with us.  If you need a brief history on the beautiful Audrey and the sadly endowed Señor Tiny Junk, feel free to read this post here or this post here.  They will explain all about our best friends moving to stupid Georgia because Señor Tiny Junk missed his mommy’s boobies.  I’m giving him a hard time.

Because it’s true.

I learned a lot during my Thanksgiving week and now I’m going to share some of it with you.  Some of it I learned by the powers of observation, much like Super Grover.  Other things I learned from Audrey Hepburn because she reads all the time.  I do not read.  Reading is for people who don’t drink.

Things I Learned

1.  I suck at being a housewife. 

I learned this by observing Ms. Hepburn.  

I like to act like I’m so busy keeping track of The Beast that it prevents me from getting anything done during the day, but in reality I’m just incredibly lazy.  Audrey would wake up each morning and say something like, “I feel like I need to vacuum your house today.”  And being the amazing friend that I am who loves to give my friends what they need, I’d hand her my vacuum and say, “Have at it.”  So I’d sit on my couch, shopping on Zulily from my iPad while Audrey cleaned my house.  She did laundry, folded my fitted sheets into perfect squares, de-linted my furniture, pulled all the cushions off of my couch to vacuum up The Beast’s snack crumbs, organized closets and cleaned my playroom.

So, to recap, I suck.

2.  Megadoses of Vitamin C will keep you healthy.  You may get a rash and suffer from vicious diarrhea, but you will not get sick. 

The entire Hepburn/Tiny Junk family arrived at our house with various forms of illness.  There were antibiotics, coughs, sneezes, rashes, surpluses of phlegm, bronchitis, fevers and possibly some Mad Cow Disease.  Ms. Hepburn at times walked around the house with tissue stuffed up her nostrils to avoid the side effects of persistent nasal drip.  There were intestinal issues.  Plungers were used.

I started taking copious amounts of Vitamin C.  I’m talking tens of thousands of milligrams.  I read somewhere that at the first sign of illness you should start taking 1,000 milligrams every hour until your digestive tract explodes and then back off.  My goal was to give myself Vitamin C-induced diarrhea.  I started feeding my children Vitamin C (and some Vitamin D for good measure) and we somehow managed to stay well.

Now, I’m not a doctor and I don’t watch any doctor shows on TV, so please don’t use my opinions about Vitamin C to cure your erectile dysfunction (talking to you, Tiny Junk) or bird flu.  I cannot be held responsible if you choose to get your medical advice from a completely nonqualified, mentally insane woman on the internet.

I would like to point out that it is a testament to my absolute love for Audrey Hepburn, Señor Tiny Junk and their children that I didn’t wrap them all in bubble wrap and make them sleep in our sons’ play fort in the backyard.

So, to recap, Vitamin C cures everything.  Pass it on.

3.  Rainbow Loom bands reproduce just like Grape-Nuts.

Have you ever noticed how when you pour yourself a scant 1/4 cup of Grape-Nuts cereal and add your milk that 1/4 cup of Grape-Nuts turns into approximately 17 bowls of Grape-Nuts?  You start eating your cereal and after three bites you look in the bowl and somehow there is more cereal in the bowl than there was when you started.  So you sigh and take two more bites, check out the news online, look back in your bowl and the Grape-Nuts are now overflowing out of your bowl.  It’s very reminiscent of the loaves and fishes.

Anyway, loom bands are like this.  The Good One and the two Hepburn/Tiny Junk children have Rainbow Looms.  Honestly, I love that the kids are doing something creative and not just sitting around playing video games.  However, one bag of loom bands does some sort of atom-splitting reproduction and 300 bands turn into 72,000,833,983,948 bands.  And somehow those bands end up in places that neither the children nor the looms were ever located.  I had bands in my bathroom, in my bed, on my porch, in my cabinets, in the pantry, in the toilet and in my bathtub.

So, to recap, loom bands can make babies.

4.  Natural flavoring sometimes comes from the expressed anal glands of a beaver. 

Beaver butt juice.

This little nugget of wisdom comes to you from Audrey Hepburn who acquired this information from Food Babe.  I’ve linked you to the site but not the actual video because that would require me to find the video and create the link and I don’t have time for that stuff.

This, of course, begs the question, Who the hell made the discovery that beaver butt juice is a tasty treat?

Picture it:  A man — we’ll call him Stubert Dinkens, because that sounds like the name of a stupid man — wakes up in his cabin in the hills of I’m guessing West Virginia.   His sister-wife, Beatrude Dinkens-Dinkens, is sleeping quietly next to him.  He goes to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee and grabs a yogurt from the fridge.  He looks outside at the beautiful stream that flows down the mountain.  He decides to take his coffee and yogurt and enjoy them down at the water’s edge.  He walks down the hill to the stream and sits on a large rock.  He gazes out at the water and reflects on the beauty and peacefulness of nature.  He takes a sip of his coffee and peels the lid off of his yogurt.  He takes a spoon out of his jacket pocket and dips it into the yogurt.  He places the spoon in his mouth and, “Damn!”  He meant to grab the key lime pie yogurt.  This is plain yogurt.  It’s swill.

He glances back out at the water and bemoans the fact that he’s going to have to leave this utopia, this bastion of tranquility, to traipse back up the hill to the cabin to get a new yogurt.  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees movement.  He turns.  There, just on the edge of the stream is a beaver, busy collecting sticks and other beavery things — a busy beaver, if you will.

Stubert looks at the hindquarters of the large, furry beast and says to himself, “I’m gonna sneak up to that there beaver and subdue him.  After I subdue him, I’m gonna squeeze his butt.  And whatever comes out of his butt, I’m gonna put in this here yogurt and I’m gonna eat it.”  Then, after tasting his newly flavored yogurt, Stubert sprints back up the hill, arms flailing wilding, face bleeding profusely from the fight with the beaver who did not want to be touched like that.  He bursts through the front door of the cabin and screams, “Beatrude!  Beatrude!  Come quick!  You are NOT going to believe what tastes just like vanilla!”

And that, my friends, is the story of how a moron named Stubert who was unable to stomach plain yogurt is the reason we all eat beaver butt juice every day of our lives.

So, to recap, beaver butt juice — you’re eating it.  Probably right now.

Also, please don’t tell me I suck for making fun of inbred people from the mountains of West Virginia.  Someday I’m going to tell you a story about how my parents met and you’ll realize that I’m allowed to make fun of people who show up twice on their family tree.

Okay.  I’m over 1,000 words.  I’m done.  I could try to think of a cute, snappy way to end this blog post.  My college professors went on and on about the need to end well.  There were lectures about taking your introduction and making it your conclusion, then writing a new introduction.  Leaving your readers — or in my case, reader — wanting more.

Well, that’s not going to happen.  I’ve got laundry to pretend to be too busy to fold.