Naughty Girl

Probably just like you, I resisted a cell phone. Like our parents and their parents, planning meeting places and carrying an accurate watch were my route.

However, I was not about to die on the altar of no-cell-phones. With surprising ease, I have slipped into the cell-phone club. And I like this club. I can't text and I have no idea why everyone writes LOL on things (I have been informed that LOL stands for Lots of Laughs, which I suppose is some surreal way of saying that in the middle of typing some sentence, I just bust up into hysterics. Not reality, my friends.). Knowing that, I would never text while driving. But the newest scheme in town is to outlaw cell phones as morally irresponsible while driving.

Here's what I understand... driving while talking on a cell phone increases your chances of an accident fourfold. It does not matter if you use a bluetooth. The new phrase is, "It's your head, not your hand, that is engaged with the cell phone." One hand or two does not seem to be the issue, it's the actual talking that seems to be the problem.

So, if we are going to outlaw cell phones because the brain is distracted while driving, I'd like to offer my own added bylaws.

No more of this...



And definitely no more of these.



Because if talking is the problem, I'm a complete car-driving moral failure.

Blog Stalk

Dear Four Three Readers,

Or Subscribers. That's what blogger calls it. Makes me sound so...subscribed to.

I'm sure that you are wondering where this blog is headed. I have no idea. Not even a clue. BUT I will let you in on a little secret. I'm enjoying it far more than I thought I would. The scary part about that is twofold - 1) I just might keep a New Year's resolution for the first time ever; and 2) you, my four dear friends, are S.T.U.C.K. This scary ride ain't ending any time soon. If you want to get off, you're going to have to jump. As in, "Oh Karen, we don't have internet anymore" or even better, "We don't believe in computers."

Remember when you were in college and you walked into a class for the first time. It was perfect when it was a huge auditorium with about two hundred other people. A little snooze, a quick flip through a magazine in the back row was hardly noticed. But then, there were the other classes. Where you walk in and your one of EIGHT people. Yes, Dr. Jobe's New Testament class. What recourse do you have? None, but a perfect attendance record and notes that would make a discouraged professor weep with joy. That's what our parents paid a lot of money for. But it really stank when you wanted a little anonymity.

And you, dear girls, are in that same spot. What can you possibly do with this blog stalk?

Nothing.

Wave the white flag.

Tell your husbands that I'm a super, high-maintenance friend that just requires a lot of energy...and reading. (What a downright lie!!!) And a potential guest blog every once in a while.

Some day, when we get up to six readers, you won't have to feel so harassed. Until then, my sincerest stalking apologies.

Resting in Him,
Karen

Please pass the tea. To the stalker.

(And so it begins...)

Although two of you are my sisters and two of you are lifelong friends, the fact that you are reading this is humbling. And exciting. If we had virtual coffee, I'd offer you some. But as it is, I'm sitting here by myself listening to the dryer. And the quiet. As much as I miss Craig, I've got to admit that a full monopoly on the remote control is a pretty sweet consolation.

I stayed up WAY too late watching the first two installments of this.



Emma. It was GREAT. Now, I have to wait until Sunday night for the last two installments to air on PBS (Masterpiece Theater).

What's on the docket for tonight?




Wives and Daughters. I figure I am one. So I better take the next five evenings to really brush up on it.

By the time Craig gets home, I'll be talking in a proper English accent and eating cookies but calling them biscuits.

Enough codswallop for tonight. Cheerio!