Fern Has an uhhhmmmm Event (DATE!!!!)

After Fern's recent non-relationship relationship she went into a bit of a slump. The old girl wouldn't even wear tinted lip balm. (Which is pretty much the only thing I can get her to slap on her face to make her appear lifelike. I swear to you she'll look so much better all dolled up in her casket than she does on her jaunts to art galleries or "taking in a museum." She has all that natural beauty just lying there unenhanced! One night, when I can't sleep, I'm going to sneak into her room and give her a makeover instead of my usual craft-craft-craft til I drop sessions. Who am I kidding? I won't. She's got a sharp right hook and knows how to use it!)

Anyhoo. She's going to a museum with a fella. A right handsome hottie-patotti. Margaret Baumen's brother. He came to visit Margaret one day last week and was besotted with Fern. And since she's only had Creepy Carl to deal with of late, she seemed quite interested as well. Humming "Here Comes the Bride," people. Not even kidding.

Anyway, the gentleman lives an hour from us. Mere child's play in the game of love. No dragons, no dark knights, just a quick drive. They are meeting up in the city for a learning adventure and coffee. Or as some of us would call it. A DATE!!!!!!!!!!!

Help me talk her into these shoes, some peach blush, and my Milky Way eyeshadow. And maybe a little Texas cheerleader lift to her hair? She could be stunning!

Oh, and don't forget the author giveaway! http://kellyklepfer.blogspot.com/2017/02/serials-and-scenarios-giveaway-fun.html

Money, Money, Money....Moooonnnnneeeyyyyyy!

Amazon. Money. Author giveaway.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Be still my heart. Get a going, people. Times a ticking! 

Note to "Those" Men from Fern

Warning! Registered weapons of mass destruction. 

This if Fern doing her due diligence with the blog. 

Zula has been pestering me for weeks but I've had nothing to say until right now. 

A certain man has recently caused me to come up with an excessive amount of words. Some have been posted in the dining hall as a warning to certain someones in the land of Paradise. But Paradise isn't the only location with snakes so I will share the boiled down version with you, Dear Readers. 

Never, elderly gentlemen of the world, is it okay to touch a woman without her permission. Nor is it okay to proposition or hint about certain subjects with a woman who has asked you to stop. 

Now this should be common sense. Would you go up to a nicely dressed business man or friendly waiter or burly bouncer type and squeeze his cheeks or chuck his chin and tell him he's much more handsome when he smiles? Hmmm that seems like it might net you a throat punch. Can I mention that  I am at the defcon throat punch level with you, Sir. Chuck my chin or squeeze my cheeks again and you will have a whole lot of hurt coming fast and furious. 

If I have not responded to your lame attempts at flirting chances are very, very high that I am not on any level attracted to you. So please, for the love of everything good and sweet, please, please, please stop with your cheesy pick-up lines. "Hey, did you leave a banana peel on the floor, cuz I've fallen hard for you." (In a retirement village? Are broken hips cute?) "If you were a painting you'd be a Rembrandt." (You know Rembrandt's work, or did you just pick the artist's name you've heard more than once?) 

Have these worked before? If so, go back to where you used them because they aren't flying here. And if you ever volunteer to model nude for one of my paintings again I will not be responsible for the things I might say or do. 

Fern out. 

Is Fern Actually Right?

I have a dilemma. No. It's not about my fashion sense as some have been rude enough to question. 

It's about my man. I'd write Dear Abby but she's been replaced by someone else. Only the real Abby could tackle this one. 

Last week I served Bob something that was just not up to my usual high standards. Now. I have a million excuses. Goodness, I've been cleaning up my garden and nursing him back to health for a month of Sundays. 

(Do you know what that even means? I don't. I sure hope I used it correctly or I'm going to be hearing about it for who knows how long. "Blogging responsibility, putting one's best foot forward, using the tools available to me to make sure I'm doing just that....blah, blah, blah!") 

Anyway. Since I made a meal that needed just a touch more finesse, polish and wow factor, Bob has been telling this awful joke and I know it's aimed at me!

Here's his joke. "A guy goes into a diner. The waitress asks if he wants his usual. He replies, yes, weak coffee, runny eggs, burnt toast and chewy bacon. 'Charlie,' she says, 'I can't send the order in like that.' He says, oh, I thought that's how you did order it because that is the usual I've had every day this week." 

Then he laughs and laughs. 

Fern says he's an insensitive lug and I should dump him like a sack of potatoes. 

I'ma Fluzy....

Ha. Ha. Ha. Get it? Flu....fluzy.

That would be an unfortunate name. Ima Fluzy.

Other unfortunate name combos I had to look up.... Ima Hogg, real person, real big deal. Came from money. Money could help take the sting from the name, but what were her parents' thinking? I found a few more. Shanda Lear from the Lear jet family. Robyn Banks. Jo King. Tee Hee. I can laugh but not for long. My mother named me Zula. Let's just say there was at least one boy who had to learn not to mess with Zula in grade school.

Oh, the reason for that little bunny trail?!?! Bobbykins is finally back to almost normal. I've been nursing him through the flu. The big one. The INFLUENZA!

I didn't stop making chicken soup until yesterday. He's back on solids and putting in his request orders. I think my chicken soup saved his life. The love I put into it was the thing the doctor ordered. I began wearing masks around him when he started looking peaked. He gets one big thing a year. This time he was not playing around. But I was ready for him.

I wiped his brow, spooned soup into his mouth and sang him sweet songs. He'd wake up screaming sometimes and I'd ease him back to sleep. Goodness. I'd forgotten how a man can be. If Fern gets sick I am instructed to enter silently, leave a tray by the bed, and return to whence I came. She says she has to tough it out. She's not real helpful the times I've been down, either, so maybe she just doesn't get sick bed protocol graces. When I received my horrible wound from that awful murderer she only took care of me for three days once I was released. She, of course, said that if I was well enough to manage the world's problems from my bed and able to wear my stiletto  slippers, do my full makeup and hair and receive guests I was probably "out of the woods."

Oh, and speaking of murderers and our unfortunate one in Paradise, one of the authors is giving away a copy of our story. If you feel under the weather it might be the best thing since chicken soup. a Rafflecopter giveaway