How Are You Feeling, Dear?
Jill: Would you like another cookie? There are plenty more.
Jack: Thanks, but I’ll pass.
Jill: You didn’t drink you milk.
Jack: What I’d really like is a beer…
Jill: Not on your life.
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Previously in Jack and Jill Time’s Up
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Suzie’s House 66: Little Red Corvette
“Would you two cut that out?!” Suzie tried to swat at Vin and Miranda, but the bulk of the front seats hampered her and then the light changed. Cars behind her honked, and Christina’s little red corvette disappeared in heavy traffic.
Miranda giggled. In the rear view mirror, Suzie could see her put a hand over her mouth and Vin smirk. It was like playing chauffeur to a couple of teenagers.
The thought brought a pang of regret. It could have been Ben in the back seat. Except Ben never horsed around as much as these two.
She wanted to bring him home. She didn’t trust Rob to take good care of him, but couldn’t keep him locked in the house all the time. If he’d seen Vin grilling out in the back yard a few hours ago he would have insisted on standing around in the back yard with him. Then if one of the red heads came along…. Suzie shuddered.
No one else in the family would take Ben. She had called Rob’s parents, who lived in town, and gotten nothing but the cold shoulder. She tried her own sister, who backpedaled fast once it was clear the move could be permanent. Round and round she went, even calling a second cousin once removed clear across the country. Nothing. No one but her wanted the kid.
Ben was such a sweet kid. Could he really be so different with everyone else, like Rob said?
“Hey! Careful! You almost hit that Volvo.” Vin pulled himself up against the back of the front seat on his side.
“Do you think Christina saw us?” Miranda stuck her head between the seats, her shoulder butted up against Vin’s off side. He winced, but didn’t draw away.
“Where? In Middleton or fifty miles later when we hit Sun Prairie from the other side? We went all the way around Lake Mendota.”
“We know,” Miranda said the same time Suzie said it.
Christina’s Corvette took the off ramp from East Washington to Aberg Ave, slicing neatly across lanes to do it. Suzie barely made it into the right lane in time to follow.
“The guy in the truck behind us is flipping you off,” Vin said dryly.
“Let him. I couldn’t get in any other way. I changed my mind. The two of you should go back to necking.”
“No way.”
“Uh-uh. I’d be afraid for my life.”
Vin grinned at Miranda, oozing sex appeal the same way Drew did when he was in the mood. “Not a bad way to go though,” he crooned.
For a minute, Suzie thought the two of them were going to fall backward into the seat behind her again. Instead, Miranda sounded exasperated as she turned away. They started up a whispered conversation. Suzie had to concentrate on the road, which had fewer cars for her to hide behind. They shot past Shopko. Christina made a feint toward Packer’s Avenue, then turned right on Ruskin instead. Suzie had to concentrate closely the whole time.
“I still think we should have gone up to the house she went in in Sun Prairie. They might have been there.” Miranda shoved up beside Suzie, wedged between the seats.
“Nah. She was trying to fake us out. You could tell from the way she looked around, like she was in a B movie.” Vin didn’t bother to rise up from his slouch.
Back on Aberg, Suzie let Christina get a longer lead. She hoped her gas would hold out if Christina caught North Stoughton Road, but instead she peeled off at Wright Street, then twisted around to Milwaukee Street, finally turning into the parking lot at Woodman’s.
Suzie parked.
“Why are we stopping?” Vin stopped trying to lure Miranda into some totally inappropriate behavior.
“This is pointless. She knows we’re following. There’s no way she’ll show us anything useful. She all but waved at me as she left the parking lot while I was going in.”
“She waved?” Vin and Miranda glanced at each other.
“No. She didn’t even get a good look at me, but why else would she have taken such an out of the way route to get here, then just turn around again? Like you both said, I wasn’t exactly being low-profile just now.”
“Maybe she was doing it to be sure no one was following, on general principle. It’s what I would do.” Vin rested his head on the back of the seat with his hand wedged between. “In fact, I have an idea.”
“You? Have an idea?” Miranda bumped him playfully.
“Pft!” He narrowed his eyes and returned her bump before turning his full attention to Suzie. “Go back out that way, and hang the first possible left.” He hooked his thumb toward East Washington.
“Ok.” Suzie put the car in gear.
“Then go up a block, take a right, and pull over anywhere you can find a spot.”
“Why…?” Suzie started to ask, but Vin had already scooped Miranda up, sending up gales of giggles, and dragged her to a horizontal on the back seat. “Argh!” He could at least have waited until Suzie was sure she was going the right way.
She did her best, and ended up parked under good-sized tree. She turned the ignition off, fully expecting to be an unwilling witness to one of Miranda’s heavy-petting sessions – just like when they were in college.
“We’re here,” she called sweetly.
“Mummph.” Vin answered between wet, smacking sounds. “Give me a minute. And we’ll. Go in.”
“Go in? Go in where?” Suzie looked over the row of modest houses, none anywhere near as nice as her house. There weren’t any big red signs pointing to a particular house with the words, “clue to where to find Joseph and Sean available here.”
“There’s someone I want to talk to.” Vin seemed in no hurry, as he still had Miranda horizontal.
Suzie was about to lay down the law when a little red Corvette came idling past.
“Hey! It’s her!”
“Shhhhhh!” Vin’s head popped up. His hair was mussed.
“It’s not like she can hear me,” Suzie muttered, but no one argued. They all watched as Christina parked, got out of her car, and crossed the street.
“I knew it! I knew she’d lead us to the place,” Miranda crowed.
“That isn’t where Sean and Joseph are,” Vin said firmly. His mouth formed a hard line.
“How do you know?”
“Because I know the guy who lives there. He’s not one of the redheads. He’s…. Let’s just say he’s on our side. Sort of.”
Thursday Thirteen #26:Gross Things
Thursday 13 has started to do themes. I’m not sure how well I’ll do with this. I’ve already missed a couple of them, and may intentionally skip a couple. For May 9th it’s “Gross” as in the number 144 or any other definition of gross. You’ll have to excuse me if I get a little icky here. 13 Gross things in my life.
1. Something in the upstairs bathtub. It seems to be some sort of wet fabric stuffed into a Bionicles container. It smells moldy. I’m afraid to open it and find out what it is.
2. My workshop. This is gross as in big, as in cleaning it up is going to be a big job.
3. The way my dd’s “friends” have been treating her. Are all 10 and 11 year old girls so cliquish?
4. My son’s smelly feet.
5. My son’s road-rash from skate boarding. I tell you, if it isn’t one thing with that kid then it’s another.
6. When a romance novel gets love confused with rape.
7. The number of times Prince Edward, George the IVths brother, had his men whipped. I’m just guessing here.
8. $21.38 Billion – PepsiCo’s gross receipts for 12/29/07.
9. $43.34 Billion – Johnson and Johnson’s gross receipts for 12/30/07. Kind of makes you feel small, don’t it.
10. The number of math problems the girl still has to do for homework. Sigh.
11. –$14,074 billion– the gross national product for 2007. I barely passed Econ 101.
12. $526.4 billion – the gross national product when I was a kid. Did I mention I’m not real big on Economics? Still, it seems a bit bigger to me now than it was then.
13. Gas. I’ll let you figure out which I mean.
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By George! Prince Edward Won’t Have It!
It seems the royal brothers have a lot in common with George IV. When sent to a fine, upstanding community, what does Edward do? You’ll have to see for yourself.
Sometime in 1790, Edward gave his “bearkeepers”, as he called them, the slip and went AWOL to England. Had he been a common soldier, he surely would have been hanged. Desertion in a time of war was a hanging offense in almost all armies well into the 20th century. The Kings reaction to finding his wayward offspring on his doorstep was unbridled rage. Edward’s brother Ernest had not been allowed to come home for good until he had had part of his face shot away and nearly lost the use of his left arm. And that was after eight years of faithful service to his regiment.
In stark contrast, Brother Edward was back home, illegally, because he found Geneva boring. Dad made short work of him. After an interview lasting less than five minutes, Edward was packed off to Gibraltar. Once there he was to be “strictly disciplined.” Not surprisingly, he liked Gibraltar even less than Geneva.
His brother officers were “low, others stupid.” The local booze was hooch cooked up out of old socks and moldy zucchinis by goat ranchers who poisoned themselves with it out of boredom. The local women, if they WERE women, were ugly beyond belief and few in number. He did have one thing going for him, as a Prince of the Realm; he had to be an officer. In fact, he was made the commanding officer of the Royal Fusiliers. The Royal Fusiliers would bitterly resent this before too long.
This command gave him more freedom of action than any other soldier on “The Rock” could dream of; including his brother officers. It allowed him to import luxury items like fine wines; custom made carriages from London, silk undies, high-end furniture, an entire orchestra, and a mistress. He was not about to lower his standards, girl-wise, by attempting the reproductive act with a local female who may or may not have been related to the famous Gibraltar baboons.
He sent a trusted pal to France to find him a suitable girlfriend. To make sure his new squeeze wouldn’t throw herself from a cliff in despair after seeing her new home, Prince Edward went deep into debt turning his bachelor quarters into something his eldest brother would have no trouble recognizing as a suitable home.
Since Gibraltar was, and is to this day, a British military outpost, the British papers took an interest in what went on there. Especially if it involved one of the princes. The arrival from Marseilles of Therese-Bernardine Mongent, to be known hereafter as Mlle de St Laurent, made all the London papers because this lady made a beeline to Prince Edwards spiffy new pad.
The two seemed to hit it off right away. She was smart, loved music as much as Edward and had “above all, a pretty face and a handsome person.” If Fast Eddie thought his luck had changed, dad had plans for him that would disabuse him of that notion.
The Shoes Have It
Ever wonder what is in the soles of your shoes? When I was in high school I had a pair of high heels I adored. They were smart, made me look good, and relatively comfortable. Being the extraordinary packrat I am, I kept them. For years. A lot of years.
In the process of dealing with some of the junk around the house I ran across these old shoes. The girl, being almost 11, adores high heels. When she saw them she glommed on. I let her have them.
The first thing she noticed was a stickiness in the soles. I looked them over and found they were evenly sticky, and suspected whatever strange polymer they were originally made of had separated, but wasn’t concerned. Next she noticed how soft they were. I recalled clearly sitting on the bus on the way to a debate meet and poking at them, wondering how something so soft could support my weight, so I didn’t take her comment seriously. Until she pulled one apart.
They had become so soft they could be torn up with our bare fingers. Though I told her to leave them alone, she uncovered a hard black thing in the middle. Being curious, I pulled it apart the rest of the way and found this inside.
Apparently this is the reason I could walk on such soft heels. It’s iron, and reminds me a lot of a screw driver, only bent.
The shoes, alas, are in the garbage where they could just as easily have gone all those years ago. At least my curiosity has been assuaged. And I ended up with this little, metal souvenir.
Have you ever done something so destructive? Do you have any shoes left over from high school? Did you ever wonder if there wasn’t a hunk of metal in there, or what it was like?
Want Samoas?
I finally got all the Girl Scout Cookies that have been won on my blog sent to their respective recipients. Taxes are done, as is the big dance recital. I’m ready for some more!
Lets make this easy for you. ANY comment left ANYWHERE on my blog between now and Sunday night will be eligible. I’ll count you in once for each and every comment you leave.
Think I won’t know if you comment on something from among the blogs I posted last year? Don’t kid yourself. I get an email every time a comment is made. I’m spacy enough that I don’t always follow up on it, but I read each and every comment. Sometimes more than once.
In other news, I’m planning on doing the Whisper meme again next Monday. You may remember this one as the Alice Calling meme. So many people referred to is as whispering, I thought Whisper would be a better name for it.
I’m going to follow it up with a game and a $20 gift certificate. Most of you probably didn’t notice, but I gave away a box of Girl Scout cookies to someone who left a comment on someone else’s blog. I picked a particular phrase from the Alice Calling Meme and sent you all out to find that phrase. I’m going to do it again, only this time I’ll give the lucky winner who leaves a comment on the right blog the gift certificate.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for the Whisper meme. It was a lot of fun last time, and should be even better this time.
Also, you may remember one of my rare guest blogs – not including Mr. Al’s regular Wednesday offerings – Helen Scott Taylor. Helen had a winning entry streaking up the ranks in the American Title Contest.
She won!!!!
Her book, The Magic Knot, comes out under Dorchester next February. I’m so proud of her! I was one of many people who critiqued it for her, and also one of many to support her through voting and encouraging others to vote for her. The book is excellent, and no one deserves a break more.
Last, but not least, if you haven’t seen the interview I did for Romance Roundtable with Anastasia St. James you might want to check it out. It was my first attempt at interviewing. I thought it went rather well.
Stuffed Lettuce
1 large head of iceberg lettuce
1/2 c mayonnaise
1/4 tsp curry powder
1/2 c cooked chicken breast
1/4 c chopped celery
3/4 c sliced waterchestnuts
1/2 c chopped onion
1 c salsa w/ cheese
Wash lettuce; remove core and hollow out center, leaving a 1/2″ to 3/4″ shell.
Combine mayonnaise and curry powder; toss with waterchestnuts, chicken, celery, and onion. Spoon into lettuce shell.
Chill several hours. Just before serving, slice into wedges.
Top with cheese and salsa.
Time's Up
If you haven’t been following the Jack and Jill story, I strongly recomend you click the “Previously in Jack and Jill” link.
Previously in Jack and Jill Jack in Hiding
saturday photo scavenger hunt
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Today’s theme is Time
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Suzie’s House 65: Grilling Out
Vin dug around in the refrigerator. Although his arm still twinged when he moved the wrong way, he wasn’t so short of breath all the time. He’d been shirking his duties around the house long enough. It was time to cook.
He found what he was hoping for on the bottom shelf – four T-bone steaks. Perfect. He took them out of the packages and put them on a plate, with a glance over his shoulder to make sure Suzie wasn’t around. She had a hard time sharing her kitchen. Now and then she’d go off the deep end with no warning. He shrugged it off, putting it down to her gender.
With the grilling tongs and spatula dangling from his fingers by leather thongs, he carried the plate of steak into the back yard.
He might not be much of a cook, but he knew how to grill. Tonight he’d show them how steak was meant to be eaten. Next week he’s do beer-soaked brats. He’d leave the soufflés to Suzie.
Foil wrapped potatoes were already on the grill, sitting at just the right height from the gently flaming briquettes. Perfect. He gave the briquettes on the other side of the grill a slash of lighter fluid, then tossed the meat into the wires and enjoyed the sizzle.
“Vin! What are you doing?”
“Hey, Miranda.” He transferred the spatula to his bad side before pulling her close for a quick kiss. She struggled out of his grip, but didn’t yell at him or hit him. He counted that as progress. “You’re home just in time.”
“Oh yeah?” She eyed the nearly-raw steaks dubiously.
“I need someone to run out and get the beer.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Beer? What do you need that for?”
“What do you mean what do I need it for? It’s for dinner.” He waved at the steaks and potatoes, fully expecting that to be all the explanation necessary.
Her mouth opened and her forehead wrinkled in that I’m-about-to-argue-until-you-go-cross-eyed way of hers. Vin felt himself tensing. Before she unleashed whatever was on her mind, Suzie drove up in a late model economy car, one that wasn’t anything like her car.
“Hey guys! Look what the repair shop loaned me. We won’t have to scratch our plans for tonight after all. Where’s Drew?” She looked around for the man in question AFTER blabbing something he shouldn’t hear.
She must be excited about it. She wasn’t usually the type to blab. Miranda, on the other hand…. … was poking at his steaks with his fork. He snatched the tool away from her in a cross handed-grab that made his chest twinge.
“Drew’s out investigating.”
“Oh,” both women said with clear disappointment. He felt the same disappointment in Drew for excluding them all from his efforts to nail the guys who shot him.
“He said he’d be back by supper.”
They exchanged wary glances.
“Do you think he’ll notice when we sneak out?” Miranda asked.
“I’m sure he will. We haven’t gotten anything over him yet,” Suzie said. She pulled up a heavy, metal lawn chair to lean against, and glanced around the back yard. “Vin, are you sure you should be outside? What if one of the red heads came back here?”
Vin assessed the terrain. The patch of lawn wasn’t very large – maybe ten feet by fifteen up against the house. A little further back was a postage stamp sized kitchen garden choked with weeds. Suzie hadn’t had much time to tend it since he, Miranda, and Drew moved in. The wall of Suzie’s garage protected one side. The backside of the neighbor’s carport blocked the other side. Along the backside was a privacy fence belonging to the house facing the next street over. Between were gaps where someone could pop through at random and there were windows in the neighboring houses from which a sniper could take him down, but the feeling of the yard was protected, and the grill was set so he had his back to the house so I could see anyone coming.
“I’ll risk it.”
“I don’t think you should,” Miranda said. She put a hand on his shoulder, light as a butterfly, as if afraid she might hurt him.
Did she think him a wimp? He hadn’t been feeling very manly the last few days, but he wasn’t dead weight, and he intended to prove it.
“Steaks aren’t done. When they are, I’ll come in.” He would have dragged her in for a kiss, reminding her he still had what it takes to please a woman, if Suzie wasn’t standing there looking concerned.
“But they could come anytime.”
“I’m ready for them.” He lifted the back of his Hawaiian shirt so she could see the gun holstered at his back.
“You’re packing heat?” If anything, Miranda seemed even more upset. But how else did she expect him to protect himself and the woman he loved?
“Of course I am. I’m not a complete idiot.”
“No, just a partial one,” She snapped. “You think a gun is going to keep you alive if Sean or Joseph decides to come finish what they started? You’ve been out of the hospital what, two? Three weeks? Damn you!” She got up in his face and screeched at him. “You WANT to get killed, don’t you. If you get yourself killed then you don’t have to….”
“Miranda! That is enough.” Suzie’s voice surprised them both like the crack of a whip in the hands of at two year old.
Miranda backpedaled fast. Her face drained of color. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m having a bad day. I tried to get a video for us to watch tonight and….” Miranda’s voice drifted into nothing.
“It’s Ok.” Suzie crossed from the patio chair to Miranda, arms out for a hug, but Vin glowered at her until she stopped.
He took Miranda in hand himself. Literally. He put the fork and spatula down on the grill’s little wooden deck, and pulled Miranda into his arms the way he’d wanted to before.
He petted her hair, murmuring nonsense words about how everything would be just fine, and kept it up until she relaxed in his arms. Then he leaned in, turning his lips to her ear, and whispered a suggestion about what they should do around bedtime. Miranda sniffled, smiled, and nodded.
Just in time too, because the steaks almost burned while he wasn’t tending them.
Shaking her head in disbelief, though Vin didn’t know what she had to be so surprised about, Suzie went into the house. “I’ll set the table.”
“I’ll… I’ll help.” Miranda quickly followed her in.
As soon as they were gone Vin glanced around the yard again. He hadn’t felt vulnerable when no one was home, but he did now.
Thursday Thirteen #25: Search engine links
These things people plugged into search engines that lead them to Alice’s Restaurant. Poor Schmucks.
1. “Alice Audrey” Awww, thanks. Someone actually knows I’m here.
2. “Katherine Howard slut” Mr. Al did a series on the wives of Henry VIII that were featured here.
3. “bifocals” The Thursday Therteen I did on my bifocals brings people in. Still.
4. “cruly hair” It was a rant, coming from my personal frustrations.
5. “Jack and Jill” What I do on Saturdays.
6. “alice’s restaurant moe” Moe? I have no idea.
7. “hip replacement jokes” I only posted one.
8. “examples of unacceptable behavior in the” What? In the what?
9. “girl scout cookies” I suppose after holding several contests with Girl Scout cookies as the prize I should expect this.
10. “que hora es soap opera” I posted a couple off of uTube.
11. “whorehouses in london” I have no idea why I would come up for this one.
12. “Henry xviii” Did I mention the Tudor blogs? They seem fairly popular. Still.
13. “dialogue substitute for he said.” I did some how-to-write blogs for a friend over a year ago. They still get hits.
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By George! It's George IV's brothers. Or Edward, Anyway.
Last week Mr. Al decided to digress a bit with a quick look at some of the other royal children.
The French revolution was putting paid to the idea that guys like the Prince, or his dad, were necessary to the function of government. The Prince, Whig pretenses notwithstanding, was appalled by what was happening in France. As were all the crowned heads in Europe. If not all the crowned heads were doing something about it, at least they were discussing the matter.
All the young princes of Europe were fitting themselves for smart officer’s uniforms in high prestige cavalry regiments. None of them wanted to be left out of the glory that would follow the crushing of the bestial French regicides. The Prince was no exception. Alas, dad wouldn’t let him out of the country. Not even if it meant the Prince getting blown to flinders in a foul, flooded field in Flanders. Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
Much to the Princes dismay, all of his brothers were in uniform. In fact, all of them had received actual military training. How assiduously they studied was not the point. They had their smart uniforms and they were ready to serve. Even the disreputable Duke of York was kitted out with all that a gentleman/officer could require. To no ones surprise, he did not cover himself with glory. Indeed, he had lost none of his taste for fast friends, faster women and strong drink. However, he did manage to get through the experience with out messing things up too badly.
Younger brothers Ernest and Adolphus, while not given their own commands, were at least serving at staff officer level at the sharp end of the stick, as it were. Adolphus had, in fact, been praised for bravery in the face of enemy fire. Like Ernest, (pronounced Urn-st) he was wounded at one point, very reluctantly allowed to convalesce in England, then sent back to the front.
Prince Edward, at least by his own lights, had a much rougher time of it. He had decided on a military career while quite young. Like his brothers, he received his education in Germany. At age 18, in May 1786, he was made Brevet- Colonel in the Hanovrian army. All fine and well. Almost. He did have some money troubles. These troubles were all too familiar to his siblings. Cards and dice, painted ladies, the bottle and the ponies.
The trouble was, his allowance wasn’t sufficient to pay for all his dearly loved vices. He, like his brothers, went deep into debt to pay for all the fun. How did mom and dad find out? They read it in The Times, of course. The parental reaction was as predictable as it was draconian. They appointed a watchdog and then shipped them both to the worst, most insufferable hellhole mom could dream up. In this case, Geneva, Switzerland.
The modern reader may wonder at my description of Geneva as a hellhole. But then my modern reader is not likely to be a dissipated, oversexed, boozing teenage boy being punished by his parents with exile in the Fiercely Protestant city that Geneva was in those days. No one ever accused Calvinists of being fun-loving, and Fast Eddie was being sent to a city full of them.
My modern reader also did not have a “guardian” named Colonel Baron von Wagenheim. The Baron was, apparently, everything the Queen could hope for in a watchdog. Her orders to him were brief and to the point. Keep that punk on a very short leash. If there is anything even vaguely resembling fun in Geneva, keep him away from it. She need not have worried. Edward found it “the dullest, and most insufferable of places.” Boo-hoo for Prince Edward.
For months, Edward wrote home asking for money or permission to return to England. He received neither. The he got a brainstorm. Why didn’t he think of it earlier?
Bad Attitude. Yippee!
The thing I liked the best? Getting away with a bad attitude. Anytime anyone came to me for direction, I shrugged and fobbed them off. I’d say, “I don’t know,” with an enormous grin on my face. “It’s not my problem,” became my mantra. Now and then I’d hook a thumb over my shoulder and say, “ask her. She’s the stage manager this year.”
No one called me on it. Not once. Now and then someone, particularly those who watched me deal with being stage manager the year before, would grin back at me.
It was such a release.
It reminds me of when I was in high school and played hookie one day. I was an honors student in orchestra, debate, speech, science club, and a member of a private repertory theater. In spring I spent more time out of class than in. One day I was so burnt out from all the extra curricular activity that I played hookie. None of my teachers marked me absent. They all assumed I was busy with one of those extra curricular things, knew I’m make up for it with home work, and didn’t worry about it. I was shocked. I also learned the value of a good reputation.
So, I rested on my laurels this week, and got away with it.
A Cowboy named Fred
The cowboy groaned but didn’t budge. The usher became more impatient: “Sir, if you don’t get up from there I’m going to have to call the manager.”
“Fred,” the cowboy moaned.
“Where ya from, Fred?” asked the Ranger.
With terrible pain in his voice, and without moving a muscle, Fred replied,
A Little Change
Seems like I’m always messing with the blog. Not so much the look – yet – but I’m making a little, tiny change in the line up. Specifically, Sunday will not be just for recipes anymore. When I set up this blog I had intended to do a number of Suzy Homemaker posts – stuff like easy sewing projects and a few minor craft activities. I’m going to start slipping them into the mix now and then.
For instance, I’ll be making a pinata over the next few weeks. I’ll take pictures and show you how I did it. I have already taken a few pictures from when I laid tile. That can be a post. I’ll show you how to make a skirt in half an hour without a pattern. Or I’ll do another recipe. I’m not going to warn you ahead of time. It’ll be a Sunday surprise.
Jack In Hiding
Jill: Jack, it’s time to go. Jack?
Jill: Where are you?
Jack: Eeek! Not yet!
Jill: He has to be around here somewhere.
Jack: I feel like the gingerbread man.
saturday photo scavenger hunt
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Today’s theme is Funny Signs
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All right, I didn’t quit fit the challenge, but I thought I did well considering.
Previously in Jack and Jill: 13 Broken Bones
