Yes, Mojo has survived the bacchanal that was her SIX Year Old Friend's birthday party. Things have changed substantially since Mojo was a wee lass. Mojo does not recall ever being the subject of an actual party for starters; perhaps because she was always greedy enough to demand lemon-flavored cake, something that no one else in the family could stand. And she always had lemon cake because she was thereby assured she would be eating the majority of the cake all by herself. And to Mojo, eating cake was more important than maintaining friendships.
More of Mom's Plaques Foisted Upon Us!
No, Mojo's Favorite Mother did not paint these. Either they were purchased or just given to her as gifts. And after keeping them for however many years she has kept them, she now feels the need to part with them. Why now? Sigh. I don't know. Mothers can be inscrutable that way. I discovered a long time ago you are far better off just nodding and smiling at them and occasionally grunting "uh-huh" if there is too much blank space. But you DO have to pay attention somewhat, or before you know it you have volunteered yourself for some charity service near and dear to Mom's heart. And you just KNOW when your mother says "Really, it's just this tiny little bit--you'll be in and out of there within an hour" you have just destroyed an entire day, and possibly the day before, helping to set up and heaven only knows what else. And while you're doing that of course there will be some sort of crisis and everyone will be throwing their hands in the air and while Mojo is going along with the crowd saying, "Man, that's too bad" you will hear that chirpy motherly voice you know so well saying "Wait a minute! MOJO has a pickup truck! We can have MOJO drive over and pick the stuff up and deliver it here! You'll do that, won't you, honey?" and everyone starts smiling and thanking you while you just stand there wondering what happened. Because one moment you have a feather duster in your hands and the next thing you know you are lugging cinderblocks with some fellow you don't even know, who has so obviously gone to the Tow Truck Driver's School of Weirdness and who seems utterly determined to scratch your poor little truck's paint job. But I digress.
I toyed with the idea of telling my egg salad salmonella story as alluded to in the hedgehog auction, but in a rare show of intelligence I decided since the egg salad story is probably THE most disgusting thing to have ever happened to me--far over and above drinking several cans of skunky beer in my crazy college days--I will not repeat it here. So instead, to quell the "awwwww" now resounding throughout the civilized world, I WILL tell the cooler story, which isn't quite as gross but considerably more humiliating.
I was horribly, HORRIBLY sick with a cold, yet I was designated (I'm sure I volunteered, but that's beside the point) to pick up my Favorite Brother from his home in The Big City and bring him back for the Christmas holiday. My brother didn't live in NYC but instead across the river in lovely scenic Jersey City, just a few blocks off the turnpike exit. It takes no time at all to swoop in, collect him and his stuff, and swoop out again. EXCEPT....