OK, Darlin’. Here’s the thing I have to share: Savannah Jane is not cut out for holidays. Or visiting. Or other people. And she has the table manners of a wild goat.
After a lovely Thanksgiving dinner at my MIL’s house, all the aunts, uncles, cousins and assorted strays had left. MIL and her Gentleman Friend (because, really, who says “boyfriend” when he’s 80?) were in the living room with DH (darlin husband) and me, watching a little TV and trying not to succumb to the tryptophan coma tugging at us all.
To quote my favorite movie…
Aunt Bethany: What’s that sound? You hear it? It’s a funny squeaky sound.
Uncle Lewis: You couldn’t hear a dump truck driving through a nitroglycerin plant
Not to be confused with Aunt Bethany of Christmas Vacation fame, I DID hear a funny squeaky sound. Kind of a clicky, clinky sound. And to my dismay, I looked around and didn’t see Savannah Jane.
I quietly got up and endeavored to stealthily find my little bundle of mischief. I found her, all right.
STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ANTIQUE DINING ROOM TABLE EATING A STICK OF BUTTER! (shouty caps completely on purpose). I was so flustered that I didn’t take a picture of her, standing there smack in the middle of the table, nomming on a stick of butter like it was her purpose in life!
The clicky, clinky sound was that of her tag hitting the saucer every time she took a giant bite off the stick of butter.
I squealed like a stuck pig, snatched her off the table, and dumped the evidence (teethmarks and all) in the trash reallyfast.
and my DH’s mama just laughed and laughed.