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Yes, Kelsea really needed a little distance from Colorado, so that’s just what we got today… out-of-state. Fortunately for us, another state is less than 100 miles away. So we went there.
We spent the travel time talking and talking and talking. Mostly about what’s going on in her life, but we did have the occasional bizarre segue, like a debate about the perceived gender of God, and if God were a woman, perhaps we all have really bad weeks when she has her period. And then about the fact that, yes, to blaspheme is actually a verb.
We were looking for some bizarre rock formations that I had read about on www.roadsideamerica.com a couple of months ago. My swiss-cheese brain told me it was near the border, but that was as far as it went. So we took a detour east and found some rocks that were inaccessible near the tiny town of Carr. Which also had a great little convenience store.
We debated and declined trespassing on the funky rocks, and turned around to continue our journey. But once we got back on the Interstate, we saw the ACTUAL rocks that we’d been looking for, which we would have seen had we driven another mile or so. We resolved to stop on our return.
Into Cheyenne, we stopped at the first flea market we saw and poked around for over an hour. It was a good flea market, and we came away with some music for her – I had gotten her an old record player for Christmas, so she’s starting to collect vinyl – and some clothes from my fledgling Ebay vintage store for me. And of course, we got a couple of little things for the house.
A scented china glass conch shell that we initially thought was a salt shaker, but then determined was for potpourri. Either way, it now lives in the bathroom.
A milk glass covered chicken dish! (The gold perpetually waving Chinese cat was a Christmas present from Kelsea). Both now live in the kitchen.
After browsing and buying, we stopped in at Two Doors Down for an absolutely excellent burger, and played peekaboo with a neighboring baby.
We had an actual purpose for going to Cheyenne – to buy Kelsea a pair of cowboy boots. We braved the wind – one thing we both REALLY dislike about Wyoming is the perpetual wind – and fled into the Wrangler, a longstanding Western store and fixture of downtown Cheyenne. And I’m happy to say we met with success!
She’s very pleased. And now it’s payback time, because I always make her take MY cowboy boots off when we’re home together.
Our final shop-stop was Ernie November, a head/music shop, where she indulged in a few CDs to round out her growing music collection. The final music tally looks like this:
Gotta love her eclectic taste in music – she bought Kiss AND Dean Martin!
Time to head home, we did take the detour off the highway back to see the strange rocks, and to get a slightly closer look at the herd of buffalo that we passed. The sunset was lovely.
And the rocks were REALLY cool.
There were a lot of them, and they created a sort of little maze, complete with small caves and crevices. But the wind was blowing like cold stink and after scaling one of them, Kelsea decided she’d had enough.
We made a mad dash back to the car, and watched the remaining sunset cuddled in front of the heater.
We’re home now, on the red couch, watching ridiculous television, and happy that we had a few hours in another state of mind.
I hope you are having a lovely weekend, too.
I spent most of the weekend with Kelsea up in the mountains, poking around Gilpin County and aspens and old mining areas. We had some famous conversations, such as:
Me: I cooked dinner for MKL the other night.
Her: Good…..where are we living now?
Clearly, she has as high an opinion of my cooking skills as I do. And dinner was actually pretty good, with no conflagrations or skin loss.
And then there was this gem of miscommunication:
Her: Can you hug bears?
Me: I don’t think so. They’d probably eat you.
Her: But is it illegal?
Me: No, but still, THEY’D PROBABLY EAT YOU.
Her: Don’t people do it anyway?
Me: Well, I suppose people have, but they’re probably mostly dead. Oh….wait….did you say hug or hunt?
Her: I said hunt.
Me: Oh. Never mind.
I hope to be able to share a photo essay with you shortly, but I seem to be quite behind in posting my writings. I’d invite you all to come to the Bungalow to read the handwritten versions, but I only have one extra bedroom. I promise I won’t cook for you.
Perhaps it’s environmentally incorrect, but Kelsea and I went for a drive. We weren’t quite sure what to do with ourselves today. So we just went. First we went to see how close we could get to Haystack Mountain. Haystack Mountain is this weird little pimple on the landscape of the foothills of Boulder. It just rises out of the ground, in the midst of pasture land, and has no discernible purpose. Kelsea had always wondered about it.
So we went on a quest.
We discovered a golf course. Kind of anti-climactic. The rest of the area surrounding the stack was fenced-in fields. She now has another goal, this one for her 17th birthday – to climb to the top.
We continued on from there, just idling, with me stopping to take pictures. We went down county roads, and to the edge of the little town of Hygiene. We cruised on into Lyons and had a tea and ice cream, and sat in a little sculpture area until they turned the sprinklers on us.
Then I took her home. I got weepy saying goodbye. I haven’t seen much of her lately. Although I am away next weekend, we agreed that we will try to have dinner one night a week at least.
Here are some images so you can share our time today.
Picking up en route from Mount Rushmore…
After a bunch more “Think or Die” signs, we reached Crazy Horse or, more properly, the Crazy Horse Memorial. Our first experience at the monument was a faux pas in which we saw a white Suburban with 20 kid icons on the back windshield.
We exclaimed loudly that it must be the Duggars, then realized that the matriarch was sitting in the passenger seat with her window down, right next to our squawking selves. We hastily passed by, trying to deflect her icy stare, which we could feel even through her sunglasses.
Neither of us had much background information on the Memorial - Kelsea wasn’t even sure if Crazy Horse was a man, a place, or an event. So we watched the informative video, encouraged by the docents at the Center. The sculptor, Korczak Ziolkowski, was so cool, and his family carries on the legacy of being so cool. We love that they accept no government monies for the project, which explains why it is taking so long. Korczak started working on it in 1948 and it’s far from finished, whereas Mount Rushmore took 14 years to complete. We’d like to donate dynamite to the cause. We like the idea of being part of blowing something up. I know that sounds wrong. But hey.
Korczak’s attitude towards the government reminded me of Jim Bishop of Bishop’s Castle in Colorado, but it was clear that Korczak, unlike Bishop, did accumulate some wealth and possessions in the course of his project. The part of his “house” that was open felt a lot like a European castle.
You can’t get close to Crazy Horse unless you pay extra to take a van tour, which we didn’t, but the renderings that are used for the actual sculpture are beautiful.
There’s a nice little museum in which I had a minor spiritual journey with a Native American dress.
We got to take home a rock that had been blasted out of the mountain to form the monument.
The spot has its own post office and zip code.
There were some random pieces that seemed unrelated – like Shaquille O’Neal’s shoe.
Korczak’s studio was really cool. It had the feel of a place that would be ultra-creepy at night.
There was also a hall with Native Americans selling various wares. Somehow, we both had a problem with that. It felt like we, as white folks, were saying, “Hey guys, let’s massacre you and steal your lands, but we’ll build a monument to you to say we’re sorry and throw in a couple of folding tables so you can eke out a living on our terms.” There is no possible reparation.
We didn’t stay here too long. The vibe felt kind of empty, hollow, not right. But at least they’re making an effort.
So we left and immersed ourselves in one of the most cluttered places ever – Doyle’s Antiques and Stuff, where we were greeted by a goiter-laden donkey.
This place had unbelievable amounts of Stuff (as advertised) crammed in every corner.
and another owner reminiscent of Jim Bishop, based on the random signage.
I barely resisted the giant rooster. I would have loved to drive back to Colorado with that sitting in the back of the truck. In fact, I loved it so much, I may have to go back for it. Perfect for the front yard. Can’t you just see him peeking over the fence?
I also barely resisted the FREE stuffed pheasant whose head had been eaten by God knows what. We have Kelsea to thank for that tasteful veto, as she was thoroughly opposed to it continuing to molt in the truck for the remainder of the trip.
We did pick up an antique apothecary bottle (free) and a vintage first-aid kit for my not-soon-enough-to-be EMT.
Our last excursion on this busy day was Custer State Park. Even with all the literature, we never did figure out why the park was named after Custer, as it didn’t look like he had much of a positive influence in this area. But then I suppose that’s a matter of perspective – he was clearly influential in some way, so maybe the positive doesn’t matter.
We took Needles Highway into the park. I couldn’t really figure out why it was called Needles Highway until we got to the tunnels. It’s called Needles Highway because going through some of those tunnels is like threading a needle. We shrieked the entire way through one – and we have it on video. I’m amazed that anything larger than my truck could make it.
Needles Highway is edged by the distinctive rock spires of the Black Hills. It is also full of idiot drivers who park blocking the roadways so they can get out to see the spires from 20 feet closer, thus causing fuming road rage in certain other drivers who shall not be named publicly.
Craving calm (or tequila, but calm was my first choice), we pulled off the road at a LEGITIMATE parking spot a bit further along, and went for a climb. We each found our individual rocks for peace and sat separately for a while, doing some soul-level housecleaning. It was quiet and beautiful and I released some things into the ancient richness of the Black Hills. I hope they can float with more ease now, and find their perfect drift in the universe wherever the current leads.
Kelsea leapt from rock to rock like a winged mountain goat. I watched her silently, my stomach leaping into my mouth each time she went airborne. As we headed back to the truck, she found a boulder stack she wanted to free climb. She’s a good climber, having spent some time at the climbing gym, and so I didn’t stop her, but as a mother, all my thoughts were, ‘Oh God, what if she falls and breaks her head open like Piggy in Lord of the Flies?’ Of course, she didn’t.
Needles Highway runs into the Wildlife Loop Road, which (as you might imagine) loops around the Park. It’s a great road and took us through a variety of changing terrains of equally matched beauty.
We hadn’t been on the loop for five minutes before we saw a buffalo nomming grass on the side of the road. Then we encountered some anti-social antelope, and another small bison herd in the distance.
Kelsea can tend towards carsickness, so she distracted herself by taking pictures of her shoe.
I did the same, though I was stopped at the time.
And then we came upon the donkeys. I suspect that the park has planted the donkey herds to guarantee any passing tourist an up-close and personal wildlife experience.
Because there was no avoiding the donkeys.
Totally social, tame, hand-feedable, another visitor gave us peanuts to feed them.
The babies were adorable.
And each donkey dutifully checked out each car to see who had the best treats. I love donkeys and haven’t had such interactions with them in, well, ever. But I han’t been around baby donkeys since Anegada. And a little further down the road was ANOTHER herd, with the littlest baby just getting his legs. They caused a donkey traffic jam.
And one decided to give me a close-in hello.
A few mule deer sightings, and we were back on the road to Rapid City, marvelling at the cool softness of the air and the diversity of the landscape we’d seen today.
We were both starving and went to Botticelli’s Restaurant, which smelled amazing, but was understaffed. Our wait was 45 minutes and I thought Kelsea was going to eat me. She did eat the paper from her straw before her food came. And the food was good, particularly the chicken piccata, but probably not worth the painful wait.
And so Day 3 came to a close. We have a couple of stops on Day 4, and then we are homeward bound.
As a single working mom, the amount of time I get to spend with my daughter is limited to weekends, and even the weekends are often limited to a day and a night, if either of us wishes to have a social life, which we both do. That’s really tough because we love each other and have fun together and each helps the other make sense out of life. I know it’s the quality of time spent together more than the amount, but most of our time spent together is quality time – it just would be nice to have more of it.
So we had last night and today together. We were both kind of tired last night – she was a little quiet, so we just hung and watched Jersey Shore and Ghost Adventures. She stretched out on God’s Cat. I took a bath. As I say, a quiet night. Today, upon rising, we ate and then talked about life and compromises and how to live with difficult people and right/wrong conundrums and all sorts of things for an hour or more. I think we both felt like we got a lot of value from our talk. Each time we have one of those really good talks, we seem to understand one another better. So, no, this is NOT how to annoy your teenager. Or at least not how to annoy mine. We’re getting to that. Trust me.
Wanting to go out but not being sure what we wanted to do, we decided to hit Longmont and the flea markets. It’s a pretty good flea market town, and we like its Main Street. So off we headed. Our first stop was where we got God’s Cat, and we had been contemplating a second, but fortunately for my wallet, this flea market was closed on Sundays. Across the highway, however, in their old location, was another flea market, with a parking lot sale going on. Unfortunately, I did not realize the extent of the parking lot sale until I had actually placed my truck in the middle of the parking lot sale. At that point, I realized that there was no place to park because there was a sale in the parking lot (see how I’m not picking up on the parking lot sale concept) and I had two choices: run over people in their booths or squeeze between the cones indicating that I’m where I shouldn’t be. As Kelsea can tell you, I have extensive experience with putting my vehicle where it shouldn’t be. The people at Home Depot and at Camp Lejeune Marine Base can vouch for this as well. We made as graceful an exit as possible and parked far away, hoping not to be recognized when we approached on foot.
We love flea markets. We poked around to our heart’s content and found some things that were too expensive but too wonderful, such as PorkChop the metal boar:
An old freezer that had a buckle latch as opposed to an actual handle, and was in mint condition:
China cats were nestled in the corners of your grandmother’s couch, staring at you psychotically for all eternity:
We both agreed that we would have to leave the house and never return were this to arrive at our door:
I revelled in a totally inappropriate sock monkey:
Made all the more inappropriate by its tag:
As we exited, we encountered a life-sized nutcracker:
Kelsea looked askance at me when I said that you could fit a baby’s head in there.
We headed down to Main Street, and though most of the shops were closed on Sundays, because clearly any money spent on Sunday in Longmont should be going to the church, we did enjoy our window shopping experience. We were also greeted by two gentlemen occupying a bench, who asked us if they could buy a cigarette from us, and when we said no, asked us for money to buy cigarettes, leading us to wonder how they intended to pay us for cigarettes had we had them to sell.
I wanted to share some of the interesting signs and displays from Main Street with you:
A very clever window display for men’s clothing:
Longmont has lots of free and easily accessible public parking and numerous small public art installations:
We did find Barbed Wire Books to be open. It claims to be the largest used bookstore in Longmont, and one we hadn’t yet visited, so we went in. I picked up a couple of mysteries.
Kelsea told me she was hungry enough to eat me, so we made our final stop The Pumphouse. The burgers were good and they had misters (those things that spray mist, not men – and when I say “not men”, I don’t mean that they don’t spray men, they WILL spray men, but men is not what they spray – oh, never mind) above the patio diners that sprayed just enough to cool, but not enough to dampen. Kelsea shared with me her most recent app acquisition:
And so, we headed for home.
Now, you may be wondering about the “how to annoy my teenager” part of the day. Well, that comes into play when I share with you what we bought at the flea market.
We found her a new army jacket from either the WWII or Korea era – I can’t tell which, but it’s in excellent shape, was only $10, and was a medic’s coat, so she is totally thrilled with that. But sorry, no image.
We found a small $2 sign for the kitchen. It’s a reminder for me of a) how to cook, and b) how to live:
I discovered a 1960′s Ouija Board. Previously, I have refused to have a Ouija Board in the house – perhaps because my Mother was so strongly opposed to them – but when I saw this one, I knew that it was the perfect time for it to arrive in my life.
And last, but so totally not least, I found Him. I had been in the booth where He was before, and didn’t even see Him, but when I walked in again, He immediately caught my eye, and it was all over. I had to have Him.
And this is where I began to annoy my teenager. She found Him terrifying. Their initial meeting went something like this:
Me: Look! I found the coolest thing ever!
Her: GAH! What IS that?
Me: I don’t know. Isn’t it awesome?
Her: NO! You are NOT buying that.
Me: But He wants to come home with you. Here, hold Him.
Her: Get that thing away from me.
Clearly, they did not have immediate chemistry. So the rest of our afternoon played out along similar lines.
Me: He likes you. He’s looking at you.
Her: Well, make Him stop.
Me: Sorry, I can’t do that. He does what He pleases.
Her: Mom, you’re sick.
Her: I’m hungry. Let’s go get a burger.
Me: Okay. He likes burgers too. And He thinks you’re pretty.
Her: Mom, STOP IT.
Me: What? I’m just saying.
She offered to carry Him on her lap if she could keep the truck windows open, but I’m smarter than that.
He was apparently all the rage in the 1950s, with numerous other incarnations, and was highly collectible among housewives of the day. Can you imagine coming home after a hard day at the office and being confronted by multiple versions of Him? Kelsea would rather stick her head in a garbage disposal.
So I will keep Him until I sell Him on Ebay, or tire of annoying her, whichever comes first – and I think we know which one that will be.
I am so looking forward to the coming months with my daughter.
Last week at our writer’s meeting at work, my boss asked me what else was happening in my life – we always end our writer’s meetings that way, since the writers actually interact very little during the week.
I told the team that Kelsea was starting high school on Monday. And they all said, “Awwwww, are you okay???”
I thought that was a perfectly bizarre reaction. Am I okay? Of course I am okay. Why would I NOT be okay? It’s not as if I’M starting high school (again… if I were, then I probably would not be okay).
When I started high school, back in the age before cell phones, computers, electricity, fire, etc., it wasn’t that big a deal for me. I went to a small school, and was with the same people I’d been in school with since kindergarten. The most significant thing was that I finally got to change campuses.
It’s different for Kelsea. She’s been to a K-8 school, so there was a certain similarity, in that she had been with a lot of the same kids for a long time, and in the same building all of those years. And she was absolutely sick of it. It’s been great how excited she’s been about starting high school. She’s always wanted to go to this school, ever since her older cousins went there.
Of course, she had a day or two of anxiety when she found out that she didn’t know a soul in any of her classes – and she had really been looking forward to going to class with her friends. But that has ebbed. She’ll still see her friends. Even though she’s a bit shy, she’ll make new friends. She seems to do that quite well – much better than she gives herself credit for. And I heard something today that I’d never heard from her before: her talking to her friends about what they were going to wear tomorrow.
This weekend, we went clothes shopping for her – new jeans and T-shirts (almost all from thrift shops, where things are stylish, unique, and inexpensive.) We had a great time together. I love it when she wants new clothes, because it so seldom happens. And we found the absolute BEST thing of all: a pair of teal green genuine Converse high-tops (that fit both of us) for $5!
We were so excited. She’s wearing them now, as she’s wandering around for a last hurrah with Uber-Cool Will. I believe they are off to the mall to buy glow-in-the-dark shoelaces and a mustache belt (don’t ask – I’m not sure.)
Her schedule is such that it will be tough for her to stay with me at all during the week. We may work it out – we’ll just have to see. Which means I’ll miss her. And I’ll (finally) really be here at the Bungalow alone (except for the cat who isn’t really mine).
I don’t know if it’s that realization that’s got me a little verklempt, or if it is as my co-workers inquired, that I am suddenly “not okay” – that I am undergoing a realization that my little girl is really growing up, that she will always be my little girl, but that we’ve only got four years worth of weekends and summers together until she’s off on her own. I suspect there’s a bit of that playing into my feelings.
These days, though, I am not borrowing trouble. I am so happy that she’s happy, excited, and who she is. My feelings are about me letting go and moving on, which is the story of my life these last few years. Maybe it’s the story of all of our lives from the day we leave the womb. I don’t really know.
I know I feel pretty lucky to be sitting on my own front porch, writing, fending off mosquitoes, listening to my wind chimes, a glass of wine at hand. It’s a far cry from where I thought I’d be now, if I ever even thought this far into my own future, when I started high school. Or at this time last year, for that matter. “God made the world round so we could not see too far down the road.” Truly, I never saw this.
What I do know with an absolute certainty is that I am blessed to have such a cool human being as my daughter in my life.
Kelsea and I are on what is the first of several road trips for the summer this weekend. We’re up at Cripple Creek for Donkey Derby Days, which I’m looking forward to writing about.
I love her. She’s so awesome. It was almost as if we started out being a little quiet and awkward on the ride up, but then we started talking about music – she has an immense knowledge of music and I have no idea where that came from.
We strolled around town, had a nice dinner listening to an awesome singer, and then shot pool for hours. Her game is improving, and I, of course, shot like a goddess, except for scratching on the eight-ball. We both danced with an old miner named Wayne. She got to see a side of her mother that daughter’s don’t often get to see, I think, and while I was mentally beating myself up for not exactly being Mother of the Year in the eyes of the world, I’m Mother of the Year to her, and I guess that’s all that matters.
Kelsea (and Uber-Cool Will) graduated from eighth grade last week.
This was a big deal, much bigger than I had thought.
There was no graduation from eighth grade for me. Not that I didn’t, mind you, just that they didn’t celebrate such things. I was in a Pre-K through 12 school, so for us, it was just the end of another year. The big difference was that we moved to the Upper School campus in 9th grade, but otherwise? Meh.
So I was approaching Kelsea’s end of eighth grade as I had approached my own – just the gateway to another summer. I had no idea how wrong I was. I’m still unsure if it’s a big deal because she’s going to a different school – high school – or if it’s a big deal because times have changed and we now feel the need to make a big deal out of everything that our kids do as a part of being human and semi-adult, from coming in last in a competition to helping a duck across the street.
But a big deal it was, and I was proud to be a part of it. All the girls in her class dressed up. As you’ve probably been able to tell from my talking about Kelsea, she’s about as far from a girly-girl as Abe Lincoln is from Diana Ross. So when she told me she wanted to wear a dress for graduation, I thought she was kidding. She wasn’t. And she didn’t just wear a nice short-skirted party dress like every other eighth-grade girl. If she was going to wear a dress, she said, she wanted to do it her own way and make a statement. Thankfully the statement wasn’t this:
No, she wanted to express her own sense of style. So she wore a floor length dress, and her long hair down, and she looked gorgeous. And she only tripped on it once on her two trips up to the platform (that would be her dress, not her hair).
The continuation ceremony was looong - almost two hours. There were the requisite number of inspirational speeches about “what school has meant to me” and “taking the next step into the journey towards adulthood”. One excellent student speaker told an embarrassing story about her mom from when she was in high school. I surely hope she discussed this with her mom beforehand, otherwise the poor woman no doubt wished she could sink into the floor.
One of the 90 students in Kelsea’s graduating class had succumbed to cancer shortly after the beginning of the year. The staff acknowledged her and her parents who were in the audience, and that brought tears to my eyes. They acknowledged all the veterans among the parents, which I thought was a nice touch. And at diploma time, when the principal said to hold applause until each row had received their sheepskin (or cardboard, as sheep are scarce these days), we were a poor audience and refused to do so, but came to an unspoken compromise by making a coordinated single clap for each student, with a more robust chatter of applause after each row. I thought it was hysterical, but I would get distracted, and clap off beat, which was rather awkward.
Kelsea had straight As, so she was on the President’s Honor Roll, which included a certificate signed by Barak Obama. She and I both wanted to wet the ink to see if it was a genuine signature, but we resisted. My niece, who works in the governor’s office, also gave her a personal letter from the Governor, congratulating her on her achievements – that one really was a genuine signature.
And as for Kelsea, she is so relieved to be out of middle school that she said she almost wishes summer was over – she’s that eager to start high school. I hope it lives up to her expectations. She used to love school (in elementary school) and she just loathed middle school, even though she did well. But for now, she just wants to sleep as late as she feels like sleeping. I, for one, will let her do so – though I may be the only one who will let her do so.
I am so proud of my lovely girl. Watching her cross the stage with poise and joyfulness was a wonderful experience.
So I guess it is a big deal after all.
Kelsea got home late-ish last night and had left something in the truck.
“Will you go get it for me, Mom?”
“No, why? Are you scared?”
“No, but there was something in the yard when I came in. I couldn’t tell if it was a deer or a coyote.”
“They’re not exactly the same size, you know.”
“Whatever it was, it was scary. I don’t want to go. Because I’m lazy.”
“Well, then I guess it will wait until morning.”
“Can I take my sword?”
“What if I get arrested for carrying a sword?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. Just don’t…poke anything with it.”
Armed with flashlight and sword, she starts out into the night.
And is back in five seconds.
“There are like three deer out there, just sitting in the yard, looking at me. Come see.”
Curiosity gets the best of me and I come out in pink fuzzy crocs and fuzzy heart-embellished white pajamas.
She shines the flashlight into the depths of the inky blackness.
There they are, just sitting.
The beam of the flashlight catches their eyes, which proceed to glow demoniacally.
“Cool. Do you want me to come with you to the truck?”
(After all, I’m already out here.)
“No, I’m fine.”
I head back inside.
She returns in short order, panting slightly.
“Oh my god, that was the scariest thing ever.”
“You know that YouTube video of the Ninja Cat?”
(We while away a little time from time to time exploring humorous videos on You Tube.)
“Well, I was coming back from the truck, and one of the deer got up and started coming towards me. I watched him in the light, you know, and he stopped. So I went a little towards the house and when I turned the light back, he was closer to me, you know, like he was closing the distance between us. So I kept going, and he did it again. And then he did it again. He was close enough that I could have…SPIT on him. It was terrifying!“
And she cuddled up and fell asleep on the couch next to me.
And so ends the tale of the Exploits of the Great Deerstalker. Or perhaps the Exploits of the Great Kelsea-Stalker.
Does it make me a bad mother that Kelsea and I were late leaving the house this morning because we became entranced with the BosomMax infomercial on the Estrell (Spanish) channel?
If you haven’t seen it, it’s hysterical. It’s like sonic magical boob-enhancing waves. According to Kelsea, “It probably gives off isobars!”
Why are all the testimonial ladies from Florida? Is it because Florida is full of strippers and old people, which makes sense when you think about it?
And our favorite selling point was the woman sitting in the office making notes, dressed in her suit skirt, stocking, heels, and – on top – nothing but the Bosom Max! If I could have gone to work dressed like that every day, perhaps I’d still have a full-time job.
Call now! Make sure you speak Spanish. Llama ya!