Listen, don't expect much from this post, I'm going to time myself and when 15 minutes is up, this post is over. So don't get your, I'm all cuddled up, going to read a post vibe on. This is just going to be a very basic, maybe even crappy, actually definitely crappy, kind of post. And I'm not even apologizing for it.
And Betty's salt grinder in the shape of a hand, agrees with me. There's no need for me to apologize for this subpar-post.
I'm on vacation you see. In Canada many people (not all) get 4 days off this weekend. Good Friday is a mostly federal holiday and for some "Easter Monday" is as well. It depends on where you live and what kind of boss you have.
It's a confusing holiday for us.
When I realized the long weekend was coming up I had to suddenly decide what kind of boss I was.
Was I the kind of boss who would take the maximum amount of time off knowing it offers the opportunity to recharge? Or was I the kind of boss that would take the minimum amount of time off because relaxing is fine but it doesn't pay the Amazon bills.
It took no time at all to decide that I am the kind of boss who takes no time off. Not even if my hair spontaneously turned into a bologna sandwich. I would simply give my head a squeeze of mustard, declare dinner made, and keep working.
That's the kind of boss I am.
I immediately demoted myself to employee. I'm following federal law (based on the fact that my blog is read across the wholeeeeeeeeeee country) and giving myself 3 days off.
That's Friday, Saturday and Sunday.
Plus I called in sick today, Monday.
Excellent. I've made you aware that the low bar for this post is because I'm currently on vacation, but the kind of vacation where you suddenly have to work a tiny little bit more and also dig 570 feet of trench for a fence.
AS THE TITLE SAYS
THERE'S MORE TO BETTY'S EASTER STORY
If you haven't yet, read The Easter Story first.
When last we met I told you all that I knew about my mother Betty's 3 month stay with a gaggle of Catholic nuns when she was 15. More memories surfaced today.
My mother, Betty has always been interested in fashion & style. When she was 16, just after returning home from the nunnery, she opened her own clothing store.
She set up shop right in her own bedroom and ordered all the sample dresses in her size.
And then she closed her store because it was a spectacularly poor business plan.
When she was in the nunnery, her ability to express her style was limited to a selection of demure barrettes.
And you'll never guess what happened. She fashion snapped.
In 1950, during Betty's holy weeks, she somehow got ahold of a potato.
Betty then put that potato behind her ear as she hid in her bedroom and plunged a needle and thread through her earlobe.
The basic method was to put a potato behind your earlobe so when you finally worked up the lunacy to stab yourself, there was something in between you your arteries.
Pierced ears were one of 2 things at that time:
- The absolute CUTTING edge of fashion
- An indicator of moral corruption
Betty was already morally corrupt by 1950 standards (smoking, climbing out windows) so there was NO reason not to further corrupt herself in the name of style and fashion.
On this particular day, in 1950, these morally corrupt ears were also infected.
Betty's ear swelled up to the size of a circus monkey, the nuns found out, her parents were called.
And all I can think is - she stole a potato. From a nun. From a lot of nuns.
She'd have to be devious to do that. And it definitely shows premeditation. Betty must have snuck into the convent kitchen and searched until she found the potatoes, chose the perfect sized one and shoved it somewhere to hide until she got back to her room.
I then picture 15 year old Betty in her school uniform. There would be no hiding spot in that uniform that a potato could look inconspicuous & even fewer places it wouldn't look startling.
While relaying this story to me tonight, Betty wondered aloud why she wouldn't have used an ice cube.
I wondered that too.
That's what I used when I infected my own ear after piercing it with a needle. Betty never found out about my infected ear though. Not until I told her last night.
Which explains why Betty got sent away to boarding school for being bad but I didn't.
I was sneakier.
This post has taken an hour. I forgot to set the alarm. That entitles me to another day off. And probably some french fries.