I wouldn't eat paint

This weekend, I did not forgo celebrating a traditional Thanksgiving meal for painting our kitchen. I would never do that. That sounds selfish, and there is not a selfish bone in my body.

And even if we did paint, I would never bribe a friend to join us by providing a fake Thanksgiving supermarket-roasted-chicken meal for them. You don't keep friends by bribing them. And I keep all my friends.

We did not leave my husband to do the hard work of painting the ceiling. I wouldn't do that. I stand by man. I wouldn't ever leave him to do the dirty work...even if it was for a run to get chocolate covered almonds at 8:55 pm at night.

And I most certainly did not show up at the supermarket 3 minutes to closing time. My friend and I did not run up and down the aisles playing, "Look what I can do?" and then jump in the air and click our heels. We are mature adults. Only leprechauns click their heels, and I'm not one of those, so clearly there was not of that going on this weekend. And we didn't stand and cheer for the janitor as he buffed the floor. We would never stand and applaud a stranger's work as that might embarrass him or us. Our mothers have taught us better than that.

And when we got home, we did not slack on our painting duties by re-enacting the drama that enfolded at the supermarket so that my husband could see what he missed out on. I would never rub someone's nose in the fun that they missed, it's not couth. I am always couth.

And when my friend left, I didn't pick up a paint brush and twiddle my thumbs giving a false appearance of working. I didn't shirk my part of the job and eat chocolate almonds. Not even when my hands we're covered in paint and flecks of the rubber-duck-yellow-paint-choice was on the chocolate. I would not eat paint.

Not ever.

Not even if my was my last piece of chocolate covered almond.

Hey, a girl's gotta have some standards.