Mission accomplished now onto baby blanket horror stories.It was the Jimmy Hoffa of baby blanket stories.
A couple of things.
- Cat’s baby blanket is probably buried under Giants Stadium. We think. Maybe. Or its spirit is keeping houses safe, you know, the way ghost children do in countries with castles and weird histories and people who did terrible things to other people and baby blankets all for the sake of “wouldn’t it be cool if this keep was protected by a ghost with a baby blanket?!” It is the Jimmy Hoffa of baby blanket stories.
- Cat’s baby blanket was a Teamster.
- I have the Bambi of baby blanket stories, because when your baby blanket flies out the back of a ‘78 Volvo wagon on the move, clearly it’s adopted by a family of benevolent deer (and friends!). My mother never lied to me.
- 2nd baby blankets are never as good as the first.
- I like that everybody humors me and lets me cover my eyes or covers them for me. Photo blogging is a team sport.
- But not a Teamster sport.
- Nobody wants to end up like Cat’s baby blanket.
- texnessa shot her baby blanket in Reno, just to watch it die.
I’m being held hostage by a parade today. That’s a thing that happens here sometimes. The neighbors had a party that went until 3:30 a.m. I know this because that’s the exact moment the “DJ” stopped yelling into his bullhorn. In other news, there’s probably fantastic Roti about 20 feet away from me, but there’s not going to be any way to get at it without being squished in a crowd or herded by police and barricades.
Happy Labor Day, you Teamsters, you.