Saint Rob

Its the day after Thanksgiving, and the stuffing was awesome. It was just stovetop stuffing, but we added some apples and made three boxes of it so there was plenty. The food was good, the kids and dogs were well behaved, and we had some laughs. My dad seems to be losing his hearing. We've been thinking that he just pretends not to hear my mom, which would be a brilliant strategy, one that I would like to master, but last night we were discussing Kentucky Fried Chicken, for reasons passing understanding, and Roy said there was a KFC near the house where he grew up, and my dad said, "You grew up in Kentucky?" He is convinced his hearing loss is due to earwax build up, and puts these drops in his ears, but I think he's just getting to be an old dude. Does anyone know where I can get one of those ear-horn things as a gag gift for Christmas? Is that cruel?

I floated a test balloon, and confronted my brother about saying "Poor Rob" when hearing about my foot, and, in true Norman fashion, he stuck to his guns and said it again, adding something about me being a pain in the ass. I had asked Rob to stick up for me a little bit, but he can't seem to do that, ever, and I should really stop expecting that he'll figure out how to say something like, "hey, now, Bored Housewife is a wonderful wife and mother has been nothing but stoic and low-maintenance during her injury." Frankly, though, my family probably would have pelted him with cocktail shrimp if he had said anything like that. So they continued to sing Rob's praises, and I started comparing Rob to Jesus and saying how they would totally push me in front of a bus for Rob, and they just laughed and didn't disagree. Rob just smiled smugly, basking in the warm glow of their affection, and totally left me out to dry.

Then I got the little kids to go around and smell the grown ups socks to see who had the stinkiest feet, and Tommy, the three and half year old, declared my brother to have the smelliest feet. Take that, Stinker!