This afternoon I am sitting, waiting for my in-laws to arrive from California with their 1 year old grand-daughter (I can't seem to call her my niece). The helicopters are circling my house for the Insight bowl (formally the Copper Bowl) set to start in an hour. The chopping sound makes me sad. I should be there, my husband and I went to the Fiesta Bowls and the Insight bowls and a few Rose Bowls, we planned on being there in our 80's, wrinkly, in matching gold blazers and maroon devil horns flashing the sign of the pitchfork. (I'm already wondering if I'll be kicked off for mentioning my alma mater, the Sundevils - the University had to cover all the depictions of Sparky when the Pope came to visit, apparently some people really believe the cartoon devil with the face of Walt Disney signals actual Satan worshipping) Anyway, the stroke stole my bowl games. I hate it. I think I'd even sell my soul to Sparky to get my body back!
My cat yakked up a hairball today, hope my MIL doesn't see the stain.
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