It's not about the house.

Friday, January 18, 2008


Because she knew something I didn't, which, like, never happens. I don't mean just with Jen. Jen knows stuff. Lots of stuff. Like where heaven is, and who isn't gonna be there. But me? I usually know everything.


Anyway. For Jen:

I do not read mysteries, I never have.
Can't figure them out, and they just make me mad.
Even Dennis Lehane, who does hail from my town,
Makes me wish I was Encyclopedia Brown.
As I try to determine who done it and why,
I end up frustrated, and I want to cry.
(Not really, but still, you must see what I'm saying:
If I can't have the ball, then I want to stop playing.)
I'd have to solve three more to make it a hat trick --
So you see, I'm no Angie, and Johnny's no Patrick.

Ta da!

I'm running veerrryyy ssslooow this morning, but I'll get the burn-the-house-down story up before you all leave work today, I promise. Unless you live in, like, Ireland or something.

In which case: Slainte!

1 comment:

jen said...

Now. I never did either; like mysteries, I mean.
Til I read Mystic River and cried. What a scene!
And I never do sleuth unless its with LeHane.
For other mysteries I don't give a dang.
Just trust me though, dear friend. Yer bossy like Angie.
She like to take control, but Patrick's no pansy.
The best one of all is Bubba their friend.
He is a gun dealer. To his friends guns he lends.
And often he blows up things, oh, he is a dandy!
This is why I think he reminds me of Andy!
(okay, not that Andy ever blows things up er anything...but I WAS right about Johnny being Catholic!)