You can just imagine his delight upon occasionally receiving an armload of catalogs and junk mail while doing some light afternoon reading:
When the mail arrives, there is usually a mad scramble by the kids to get to it first.
Yesterday, even though the J-Dog had the advantage of being, um, stationed right in front of the mail slot, the V-meister beat him to it because she is way ahead in the manual dexterity department.
I was in the kitchen, scraping some dried up Gerber meat sticks off the wall when I heard her exclaim with glee:
“Mama! It’s my girl Carrie!”
Carrie, the imaginary friend, was making an appearance.
I ran into the living room.
“Where is she?”
The V-Meister pointed to a youngish blonde in the Sigrid Olsen catalog that had just arrived with the mail:
“Right there! That’s my girl! Carrie!"
Who would have thunkit?
The elusive Carrie, a catalog model.
At least it wasn't a Frederick's of Hollywood catalog.
