[updated Friday 1/12: upon closer observation, it is evident the picture below is not in fact a group of people holding up their credit scores but rather judges who have not written down their numbers…apparently, Microsoft clip art does not celebrate credit scores. I, however, do.]
My credit score is lower than Curtis James’. My non-business, low income, always pay things on time even with $50 dollars to my name credit score is higher than his. It’s only 10 points higher, but it’s higher. And, they’re both excellent by any standard, but mine is better. Bet-ter.
Now, our marriage is not a competition. But when you live with Mr. All-American-I-Can-Do-Anything-Right-the-First-Time-I-Try-It, it’s nice to win something every once in a long while. So, I claim the credit score.
And, the child-birthing thing. I win.
My cutie husband is sick. He’s never sick…and I can’t tell you how sick, but let’s just say he came home early from work on Monday and stayed home Tuesday and is never far from the potty. Poor kid. He got it from his sister. Hopefully, we’ll just keep it on the blood-side of the family and it’ll skip right over me. I’m better (and cuter) when I’m the “take care of you” person.
This photo is from the Alamo. Rylie had a diaper change and a bottle right there on the back lawn. Her little buns touched hallowed ground…perhaps where Jim Bowie (not David Bowie, as someone in our car thought) once stood. The child is forever moving her feet and hands. When she wakes up from her naps her two little bird-legs are crossed indian-style inside her pjs. Her right arm is constantly moving up…down…updown…up…down…like a miniature chicken dance or something. You should meet her. She’s funny. And, she’s very very cute. Seriously. Ask anyone in the DFW airport or Target.
Merry weekend, folks. I hope you have a good one…and perhaps we will run into each other at Little Mexico or Tractor Supply or somewhere.