Curses...

Driven crazy by this thing to Yoda speak I have been.

I took it yesterday, and hid it. Didgeridoo Boy was distressed. Where could his precious be? What became of the precious? I told him he could have it back on one condition:

He had to act like a normal person at the grocery store.

Did I think he'd do it? No. I didn't think he could muster that in a million years. The entire time he and I have been together, I have never, ever left a supermarket with him without being psychologically traumatized. He is maniacally silly, and prone to doing everything within his power to humiliate me *or* get me to hurry so he can get back to whatever the bloody hell it was he wanted to do. (Usually go to a game store or Walmart.) He speaks in tongues, wanders off, indulges in unmentionable bodily functions, hits me with the cart, trips me, and otherwise fully prepares me for violent outbursts every.....single.....time. Without mother fryin' fail. I'm getting hacked off just thinking about it.

So imagine my shock yesterday when he behaved, even in the produce section (he gets especially antsy around fruits and vegetables). He was *patient* - or as patient as Didgeridoo Boy can be. He was *nice*. Even his facial expression, usually twisted into a demonic grin that clearly indicates several injurious plots brewing at once, was downright peaceful.

Hence Didge's restored possession of his whoopee cushion.

I don't want to talk about it anymore.