Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Too many leftovers.

I have so much candy leftover from the trick-or-treaters. Perhaps that's what I get for giving each brat only two pieces. (No wonder I have egg all over my porch.)

Now let's see...the Snickers, I'll save those for Betty, she loves them. The Almond Joy's, Agnes eats those. The Kitkats... I'll feed those to the neighbor's dog. (Lord knows, that mutt never stops barking at 2am.)

And that leaves the Milk Duds...oh the agony! I love Milk Duds, but they take out my dentures. And the last time I tried eating them without the dentures, I damn near choked to death. To only have my own teeth again!

Gah! Too many Trick-or-Treaters!

I can't keep up with these kids. And none of them have any parents escorting them! Who in their right mind lets their children run a muck in the streets at night? Do I have to cook a couple of them to get parents to exercise some caution? (I'm gassy enough as it is. Swallowing a little brat whole--costume and all would put me over the edge...and there's not enough Beano or Mylanta in Kansas City to get me through that.)

At least they're all nice kids, only one didn't say thank you when I handed out caramel apples. Fortunately I had laid all the booby traps, so one push of a button was all it took to take care of that little unruly whipper snapper!

Geez oh pete, it's Halloween!

Well kids, it's that time of year: the time to set all the booby traps around my front porch so that those pesky trick-or-treaters will learn that Madge Sinclair does not hand out sugary treats to grubby little brats who are already spoiled as it is. Let me check my list...mousetraps..check. Nooses...check. Pail of fire ants...check. Collection of rubber snakes...check. And if that don't work, I'll send Maxine, my vicious pug after those darned brats. Happy Halloween from a REAL wicked witch! Ha, ha, haaaa!

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

A lunch date with the girls...

Well I'm not totally alone. My kids do call me every Saturday and Sunday after I get home from church (I'm Episcopalian by nature, but I've been to a Jewish synagogue and frankly, the Jews make better dishes when it comes to pot luck.)

And my husband haunts me every Tuesday night. And can you believe? That dead beat still wants to go at it?! Men! They never lose their craving for you know w-h-a-t even in death!

Well, so today I had lunch with the girls, Betty and Agnes. We always go to this nice little Bistro on Jackson and Main. (Hey, when you're loaded and old you've got to spend it all so the kids don't get a damn dime to squabble over when you're gone.)

So today at lunch I decided to be risky and get the turkey club on rye. I pop a couple of Beanos and wolf down the sucker as if it were the 1930s all over again. While Agnes is going on about her damn crocheting, I get that awful swelling feeling in my abdomen. (I swear, if I have to write another long ranting letter to those numbskulls at the Beano company, by golly I'll do it!)

So anyways, the damn things don't work and I end up spending the rest of lunch in the ladies room with my silk stockings below my ankles.

Betty eventually comes to get me, asking if I'm ok. I of course tell her yes because who wants to tell your 70 year old best friend that you got the runs from trying something new. (That's the last time I live on the wild side.)

So twenty minutes and twenty rolls of Charmin later I come back, order a bottle of wine, and sit while Agnes finishes her long tirade of a terrible story. (It's a good thing she doesn't have internet. She's 80, and dead set against getting it.) And yes, I tried to drown out her yammering with the wine...

Finally we all hail a cab and I return home just in time to have the other half of the sandwich repeat on me. Sorry to be graphic, dear children, but there comes a point in life when your bodily functions catch up with you.

I love Stuffed Cabbage.

I love Stuffed Cabbage. But the problem is I can never eat it near a pilot light, cause LOOK OUT!

Heeeeere's Madge!

Well hi there. My name is Madge Sinclair, I'm a hip old braud who lives in Kansas City. I retired ten years ago after a life long lucrative career of raising four kids and living with an ill-tempered husband who ran me like a servant. (Actually I taught Art and Art History at my local community college for many years.)

But I survived it, folks. I am in my 70s, and I live each day with gratitude that my husband is dead and my kids grown and out of the house. For once I can do whatever the pork I want and no one will stop me, not now not ever! (Fortunately, my husband left me a nice sum, so look out kids, granny's loaded!) Oh! Ouch, yep, I'm loaded right now...excuse me...

A sassy, gassy, hip, old Braud from Kansas City cuts loose on the internet.