Who's THAT Beyotch??

First of all...before I get into this post, I have to send out some love to my girl, Foxy, over at The Fox Den. I'm sending hearts, magnolias and mimosas to Foxy because she gave me an award on her blog!! This has never happened to me before and as a direct result, I have sweaty palms and a case of the giggles. I have no idea what happens next, if I'm supposed to bring this award over to my blog or if I just send you over to Foxy's to check it out (which I imagine is what would happen if Chris accidentally left his Grammy over at Rhianna's and now he has to send his friends over to her house if they want to see it...seeing as he can't get it back without a court order, and all). Anyway, if you like my blog, you'll love Foxy's. She has a fantastic sense of fashion, she's very crafty...and my very favorite....she has an Etsy store! You know we Etsy girls have to stick together. It's a jungle of big-box, China-produced, characterless accessories out there! In fact, I've been mulling over this scarf for about 2 weeks now: It is so very much on my Christmas wish list! And her store is called Down With Knit...if you don't get all nostalgic for a certain romantic comedy starting Renee and Ewan, then you are not my people. So, thank you Foxy! May we amuse each other endlessly, even if no one else is amused.

So, I was telling this story to BFF last night after giving her a free 90 minute hot stone massage. (How, you ask, does one get a free 90 minute hot stone massage?? Well, first you have to be BFF with a massage therapist, which she has clearly done. And then said massage therapist must have taken about 4 months off from massage therapy in order to have a life-changing event, and then she must get 2 new clients in the coming week. In order to make sure said massage therapist still has the magic touch, you must offer up your body for experimentation. It can end 1 of 2 ways. Let's just say...these hands are magic.) As I was telling her the story, I realized I hadn't shared it with you. It's short, it's sweet and it perfectly demonstrates the amount of crazy that rolls around in my head on a daily basis...especially where my sweet, innocent, non-professional-athlete of a husband is concerned.

2 bits of background:
1. We have a dry erase board attached to the side of the fridge for grocery lists, notes, etc. I would much prefer to have it on the front, but as it is, we have a stainless steel fridge and apparently the only thing that sticks to the front of it is cat hair. And since I married into the ownership of the fridge, I don't have a lot of room to complain.

2. I really can't stand "normal" Uncle Ben's rice. If given the choice, I would much prefer the rice sold at Asian markets and served in Chinese buffet/Japanese hibachi/Kroger sushi places. So, when I buy rice, that's what I buy. Life is too short to eat crappy rice (in case you're wondering, I feel the same way about oatmeal).

Now that we've got that covered...a couple of months ago, I got a call from someone who needed me to call another number to arrange a delivery. I scribbled the phone number on the dry erase board in the only blank space - next to the grocery list. About 2 days later, as my husband is cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I'm adding to the grocery list when I see the notation. Instantly, my blood vessels constrict and my vision sharpens. I am prepared for battle.

"Who the HELL is Jasmine Rice and why do you have her phone number??"

After Neal pulled himself up from a collapsed heap of hysterical laughter and wiped the tears that rolled down his burning cheeks, he gently reminded me that I need to call the florist...and pick up some (not "a") jasmine rice at Kroger.

The worst part? It was in my handwriting. You can't even read Neal's. Words like milk look like nllc and corn looks like suln. This was clearly legible...my first sign. Nonetheless, here I thought some exotic chick, probably a first cousin to Condoleeza, was moving in on my man. The good news? I quit buying Lucy's eggs.