My sister, Terry, called me last night just as I was falling asleep to tell me she had the hiccups.
She and her husband, Dan, were in New Orleans and I wasn't. I'm sure the fact that I wasn't with them was the real purpose of the call. It was one of those nana-nana-boo-boo calls. I'm here and you're not. Smart-ass.
I could hear all those wonderful Bourbon Street sounds in the background. People shouting, "I'm gonna kick your ass!", bands playing Play That Funky Music White Boy, the clickity-clickity-click of the tap dancing street performers and drunks hollering, "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" (I couldn't actually hear all of that but I could feel it deep down in my New Orleans yearning bones.)
I simply said, "Good for you," and she hung up. I can't wait until the next time I'm in Vegas or New Orleans without her and I call her at 2:00 a.m. to tell her I have something stuck in my teeth.
1 comment:
Yeah, I hate when people do that. One day when I rule the world, they might be sorry.
Hey, Laurie, does your blog have the hiccups? It posted this one three times. Mine does it too sometimes. In fact, I'm amazed I'm actually able to leave a comment right now. Wahoo! I feel like I'm floating down Bourbon I'm so happy...
Post a Comment