You people have no idea just how dedicated Mr. Fill (or Sir Fill, as he’s recently been demanding; but until the Queen of England shows up at my doorstep and wallops him over the shoulder with a stick, I just don’t think I can go that far).
Huh? Oh yeah. You people have no idea just how dedicated Mr. Fill is to his craft and, by extension, to you all. Photo evidence to follow. Snow, ice, water dripping off of the eves of his roof and onto his hat — none of it is enough to keep Phullabaloney from his appointed duties (and he did, indeed, unceremoniously face plant in the snow more than once yesterday).
So, with this in mind, he politely (for him anyway) asks that you not shoot the messenger.
But before we get to his appointed duties and the message for which he hopes he is not shot, I feel compelled to answer a question that was asked yesterday both on my WordPress blog and my Spaces blog (which I really should just shut down, but it only takes an extra 10 seconds to post my posts over there as well, and I kind of like having the back up). Anyway, the question was, essentially, how did I get the first fiance’s diamond?
I just want to make sure everybody knows that I was not some conniving witch scheming to steal the man and the diamond. That is so not me. The man actually dumped the fiance of his own accord and, according to said man, she voluntarily, despite his protests (mild though they may have been), gave the ring back to him. Shortly thereafter he started showing interest in me and I started thinking, “Great, how am I going to get rid of this kid without hurting his feelings?”
I know, I know, MEAN of me to say such things about my own husband, you think. But here is a little perspective for you: he graduated from high school in Utah, I did my student teaching of high school juniors and seniors in Utah one year after he graduated. I know, I know, one year AFTER he graduated. So what? Well, if I had gotten my degree on the regular four-year plan rather than the how-many-courses-do-I-really-need-to-complete-to-be-an-English-teacher-or-journalist-five-year-(plus a summer)-plan, I would have been doing my student teaching while he was still in high school. I could have been his senior English teacher!!!!! Tell me those stories on the news about the teachers who hook up with their students don’t just make you want to puke. So, you see, there but for the grace of God, an extra couple semesters worth of required courses, and the fact that he went to Orem High and I taught at West Jordan High, go I.
Anyway, after we were married (and he was 21 when that happened), since he still had the first fiance’s ring, he had the diamond re-set (of his own accord — I thought he was going to sell it and get the cash) and it was part of the present he gave me for our first Christmas together. It’s not that I wanted to wear it like some badge of victory, it’s just that I . . . umm . . . do.
Okay, I’ve been stalling long enough I suppose. Now it’s time for this week’s installment of Phullabaloney Fill.
First, let me just say, I’m sorry.
Craftymommy (I haven’t noticed her using her actual name on the internet lately, so not sure if she doesn’t want me to or if I’m just being overly paranoid for her) wanted to know *sniff* if she will be promoted to lead this year. Mr. Fill really loves your blog, you know? Lots and lots. He thinks you are a fabulous person with one of the most adorable children on the planet.
Bev, well, she had a few very, very good, reasonable, very important questions:
Fill, after 18 1/2 months of wishing, wondering and waiting will I be waiting no more before the month turns to April or will I be left looking like an April Fool?
Do I need to extend my letter of permission to adopt?
Will Baby Benjaminh show his face in the first quarter of 2008?
Mr. Fill loves Bev. He loves Boomer, too. And Canada? He’s always wanted to go there (even though he doesn’t care for face planting in the snow). Bev has been waiting so very patiently for so very long for her referral, and Phullabaloney would really like to encourage everyone to send up prayers or positive thoughts, or whatever it is you personally send up, on her behalf. Mr. Fill, himself, is a praying groundhog, though with his language I’m sure he’ll never be asked to pray publicly.
Anyway, *sigh* here is the scene for this week:
He is hiding his face because he is embarrassed. He loves his job and he is afraid this is going to hurt business; but the cold, hard truth is that he saw his shadow so it’s bad news all around. Basically, whatever timeframe you were hoping for? Tack on at least six more weeks or days or something. Hours, if you want. Even minutes. Phullabaloney isn’t quite as bound by tradition as some other groundhog we know.
Mr. Fill is a sensitive soul with an acerbic tongue, so you can only imagine the assault to my ears when he came outside to this.
And George, if you’re out there, Tewt the New says hello.