Pick me right up!

These cats cheer me right up… I have watched this 20+ times. And we “take turns” being the Poom! cat at our house. Although I really love the grumpy one. He is adorable.


I don’t have a list today, but I will regale you with one of my funniest stories. I don’t have many funny stories – just three to be exact – but my funniest by far is the story of my first night at an unnamed all-women’s college on the east coast.

I was, well, Midwestern. And the other girls were soooo not. I was proud of my new clothes and dorm room furnishings until I saw what the other girls wore and had. Do you remember the first time you meet someone with real money? I sure do.

My roommate was wonderful – she was from West Virginia. She was fun and sweet and gregarious and had worked hard to get to this college – she came from a very crazy and poor family. She had a boob job that her 30-something boyfriend had paid for that resulted in her girls pointing in different directions and sold, ahem, well, treats for boys of neighboring colleges for $50 a piece in our room. (I spent a lot of time in the library.) We both were immediately disliked for being from states that were on the wrong side of the Civil War. No, no, no I am not kidding. (My father repeatedly told me that I should remind people that Missouri was a BORDER state! – I never did because I never grasped why the Civil War mattered in the personal relationships of 18-year old college girls – but that is just typical stoopid Yankee thinking, I guess.)

The girls in the room across the hall – Mary Blair and Patti – were not nice. They were both really wealthy and really pretty and wore college sweatshirts and pearls and tasseled loafers altogether – no, really, they did. NONE of this is exaggeration. And everything they owned cost more than my car. They had coordinated before coming to college and had matching Laura Ashley everything for their rooms. And every time a Yankee or a fat person or a servant (i.e. Professor) talked to them they had a look on their face that was a mixture of boredom and the effects of bad shellfish. I learned to avoid them quickly, but my first night… well, I put on my big, stoopid Midwestern smile, extended my hand (gawd, what an idiot I was), and said…

“Hi, I am Ginger.”
Patti: “Ginger? Really?”
Me: “Yes, Ginger. What is your name?”
Patti: “Why! One of my horses is named Ginger!”
Me: “Oh.” (I mean, really, what does one say when someone announces that you share a name with ONE of their horses. “Is she a good horse?” doesn’t seem appropriate.)
Patti: “Where are you from, sweetie?” (Kill me, kill me now.)
Me: “Kansas City, but the one that is in Missouri – it is confusing. Where are you from?”
Patti: “My parents live in Washington D.C. My father is the head of the FAA.”
Me: “NO WAY!! Really? They have their conference in Kansas City every year. They all wander around downtown in their boots and blue jackets once a year.”
Patti: “What ARE you talking about?”Me: “
The FFA – Future Farmers of America. You said your dad was the head of that?”
Patti: “Federal Aviation Administration. He is the head of the FAA!”

I transferred to Drake a semester later. Go bulldogs!