Ham in a can*
“Hey, R., what’s with the canned ham?”
“Dad sent it. And by the way, this isn't a zit on my nose. It's a second, smaller nose.”
"I was wondering when your second nose would start coming in. Why did Dad send the ham?”
“Because his girlfriend brought it from Oregon where she’s cleaning out the house of a dead person. And of course, she and Dad are both vegetarians.”
Okay, let’s back up just a second and say that I hope I don’t seem like the kind of person who wants to eat canned ham (ever), but I must say I was intrigued to be the recipient of a canned ham donated by my ex-husband’s girlfriends’ dead customer. The ham, alas, expired in 1991, which may explain why it wasn’t donated to a food bank. Should I just get the cats? Truth, please. Because this isn't the first time this sort of thing has happened.
And alas, so much material from the weekend with 30 middle school people, but I probably shouldn't write about that. I will confess that I have a huge crush on Port Townsend, and would move there in an instant if I had a job, house, no kids to consider, friends, and it didn't require leaving all my freaky obsessions. Other than that, I'm there.