Wanna know what I got for Christmas?
Do ya, do ya?
I got this, from the Daddy-o.
What is it, you ask? It's a push stick.
You know, a push stick. Duh. To go with my new. . . .
Oh. I'm sorry. I should have specified. You were supposed to read those last two sentences like the announcer on The Price Is Right. Let's try that again. . .
To go with my new. . ..
Eh-- that was so-so.
I would like you to know, that the hubs and I don't get each other stuff for Christmas. We have a truce. But people ask us every year, and so he said,
"Why don't we just tell people you got me the table saw and I got you the sewing machine?"
and of course I said,
"Nah--- You got the sewing machine. I got the table saw."
Because, well, really, I went and bought it for myself. With his loving permission.
But in actuality, both of them are mine. Does that make me a huge jerk?
So, I think I shall call him "Jaws".
"Jaws of Death" in full, but "Jaws" for short. And Jaws has some great safety features, thank goodness.
And do I have plans in the works with Jaws? Is the sky blue?? Well, sometimes?
Have I used Jaws all by myself? Hehehe, no. I'll be taking safety lessons. And wearing goggles. And always using my push stick. And always wearing ginormous ear muffs.
And maybe some armor.
And maybe some depends.