Free Association... Complementary Too

I have a little pet peeve with the complementary thing. It's peevish of me, really, to need to point his out. But I can't seem to stop myself... so here we go...

My dear, sweet husband the EGE purchased for me a Queen For The Day gift certificate. You know, the kind that includes spa pedicures, manicures, facials and massage? Awesome gift! If you are a husband type lurking around here, your wife type would love this gift. She would shower you with compliments even amongst her girlfriends with whom the hubby-dissing might be more commonplace than you'd like.

So you see, I am the recipient of this lovely gift and it has check boxes next to all of the things that come with the package: All of the complementary services. And it is driving me up the wall that they spent good money on design and printing these beautiful cardstock brochures and used the wrong word, complimentary, in each and every place that should have read "free," included" or "complementary."

I just can't seem to get over it.

Yesterday I used the pedicure part of the certificate and got lots of compliments on my cute red toenails and callus-free heels throughout the afternoon. I had to beg for the compliments, but I'll still take 'em. Now as soon as I'm done blogging I'll run out to the garden barefoot and undo some of that baby-smoothness. Sigh.







But back to the free association.



Last night we were enjoying family dinnertime but could not for the life of us find the Parmesan cheese. Spaghetti and salad with no Parmesan? Or, as Gracie calls it, "stinky cheese." We gave up after a few minutes of searching and sat down to eat and visit as a family. This has been sadly kind of rare lately, as the EGE is working lots of late nights.



Ten minutes into our conversation, 4-year-old Gracie randomly piped up, "Maybe it walked upstairs."



"Maybe what walked upstairs?



"Maybe the stinky cheese did walk itself upstairs."



Sure enough, she raced up to her room and brought back the Parmesan.



Then the EGE somberly asked her to please not take any more food for walks. And she quickly replied, "Then can I have a dog for my birthday?"



Now our dog stinks, but this is a pretty free association. And not so complimentary if you know what I mean.

So in the spirit of speaking well of the dog... he's getting kind of old. And I'm feeling bad about all the times I didn't take him into the groomer but just washed him with a cold water hose and flea shampoo in the back yard. Because it's not as though I dislike the dog. I'm just exhausted (and a little disgusted) by his doggy antics. And his odor.

This morning my Suburban, my dear, dear Suburban, is sitting in the driveway awaiting its fate. Or waiting for the mechanic to have time for it. And I had to run around town in the EGE's (relatively) sexy little black sedan yesterday while the sweet EGE and the dog had to go in the stinky extra crew rig. It smells way worse than the dog. Even worse than Parmesan.

So I'm stuck at home today with only a couple of extra kids, planning a sewing project or two as soon as I can get over the word choice errors on my gift certificate.

Stay tuned. For the sewing projects, not the end of my ranting ways.