Five Minute Friday -- Welcome.

Just for fun -- Five Minute Friday, brought to you by the Gypsy Mama, all the way from South Africa.  If you have time, go share her beautiful homecoming journey.

Today's topic is welcome.  I tried something a little different today, just for fun.  And, I have to admit, was having way too much fun to stop at five minutes, so I think mine ended up being more like an Eight Minute Friday.  Sue me.

(Actually don't, all I own at the moment is some stale bread crust, a dried out Sharpie marker, and a broken Swatch from 1984.  Go ahead, try me.)

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Come on in!  Welcome.

Get in here, out of that smoldering heat.  I don’t know how y’all can stand this humidity.  I’m fixin’ to pass out from this weather.  (Did ya like that?  The way I threw those southern niceties in there?  I’m trying.  This west coast girl is just plain out of place down here in south Texas, so I gotta try and fit in however I can).  So glad you came for dinner, though, really.  If you'll just wind your way through the train-track monstrosity that is my living room at the moment, you'll find the dining room. 

Find yourself a seat – whichever one you’d like.  Get a chair quick though – there are only ten spots at the table and, well, you make thirteen, so every meal is a game of musical chairs until we break out the folding chairs and rolling office chairs that have us all gathered together the way we like it, elbowing one another like sardines in a can.  Just go on and step over that stack of precariously balanced photos waiting to be scrapbooked.  Yes there are 700 of them, dating back to December.  Don’t judge.  And, umm, wait, before you sit there…I’m so sorry but that’s where little F sat at breakfast, and, well, didn’t make it to the restroom so the seat’s a little damp still.  And the one beside it is still drying from the vomit – J wasn’t feeling so well last night.  Just go ahead and wedge yourself in there anywhere else you can find a spot.  Don’t mind the belching – we’re working on that.  And don’t mind the desperation in my eyes as they silently plead with you to pleasefortheloveofallthatisholy, send help, or at the very least, get me out of here.  I always look like this, lately.  It’s nothing.  Really.

Why yes, this is a new hairstyle, thanks for asking!  I call it “the accidental dreadlock” look, since really it’s simply a result of neglectful grooming.  I sat up into the wee hours with homesick kiddos, and I’m afraid my hair (and sanity) has paid the price.  I sure hope you like leftovers – tonight’s special is soggy corndogs and frozen fish patties that taste suspiciously like Styrofoam.  I know, a real treat.  Truth be told, I don’t eat much at mealtime, but can usually be found on a desperate hunt for chocolate in the middle of the night.  We would have had chicken for dinner but it takes six whole chickens to feed this crew, and, well, if I can be frank with you, I just didn’t have it in me to wrestle with the guts of six chickens today – especially since I realized I forgot to defrost them, somewhere around the time I realized that I haven’t showered in maybe three days, maybe four.  I lost count.  (N, dear, would you kindly remove your muddy tennis shoe from the table?  Thanks.)  Don’t mind that, a little dirt won’t hurt, as they say.  Just look out for snake guts – and oh, ignore the massive tarantula making its way up the dining room screen.  The boys are just wild about our family mascot.

Corn dog?