I'm Back! (and classier than ever)

I'm back from my little vacation.  It was up at Rainy Lake in International Falls.  My kids have been there for two weeks with their grandma and I was starting to miss them.  Unfortunately for me the weather turned from hotter than Satan's bung to "seasonal" which in Minnesota means cold.

On one of the cold days we went in to town and shopped around the tourist shops.  I found a scented lotion that I loved.  It was super expensive, but I thought it smelled so good, it was worth it.  I put some on my hands from the tester and had Kira smell it.  I said,  "Doesn't that smell great!?"  She said, "Oh yeah." and she sniffed it and thought about it and then said,  "It smells just like an outhouse after Febreeze is sprayed in it."  Which she genuinely thinks is a good smell.  Later I picked up an Enquirer and read all about how great Prince William is at Polo.  Then I went outside to watch Kira swim and she played with a dead perch for about a half hour until a seagull came and stole it from her. Kira put up a good fight and I eventually had to step in and referee the scuffle which mostly consisted of yelling, "IT'S A DEAD FISH, JUST LET HIM HAVE IT!" Then I thought to myself, I bet Prince William has never known the joys of playing with a dead perch, getting in a fight with a seagull, or smelling the wonderful smell of an outhouse after it's been sprayed with Febreeze; and then I thought, "OH MY GOD! WE'RE REDNECKS!" which probably isn't coming as a surprise to some of you (okay, all of you), but I guess I never really thought of us as  rednecks.

Stop laughing.

And I'm the worse kind of redneck.  I'm the redneck who looks at other rednecks and feels superior.  For example, when I saw a woman who looked to be about 50, in a Miller Lite tank top with an especially mullety mullet, drinking a beer at 10:15 in the morning, I snottily thought to myself, "Wow. Nice life, fashion plate." All the while I'm walking around town in mom shorts that nicely showcase the surprisingly long hair, peeling skin and scabbed over mosquito bites that make up my shins this and every summer, while my daughter and her cousin are having farting contests and guessing what each other ate the night before based on the subtle hues and undertones of their intestinal gas.

We need to go to finishing school.  Is there still such a thing as finishing school?  (There is! Yay!  I wonder if they have scholarships because mama don't have the scratch, know what I'm sayin'! I spent all my money on outhouse/Febreeze lotion.)

Oh well.  Being a redneck has it's benefits.  At one point while we were at the lake Kira said, "I'm goin' fishin'," and she grabbed a big tube, tied a minnow bucket to it, slapped on some goggles and spent the next half hour with her head under the water, looking for crayfish under rocks.

Because, Dagum!  Them's good eatin'!

Just kidding.  We didn't eat them.  (she didn't catch enough.)  I think teaching Kira to act like a lady may be a hopeless case.  When I tell her to shape up and mind her manners she puts on a fake British accent and calls me "Mumsie."

I might as well cut her hair into a mullet and get her a Miller Lite tank top.  Why fight it?