A Sentimental Feeling

First, I'd like to say yet again, MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!

It's time for me to stick my turkey in the oven and get to work. But first, I have a little post for you I'd like to share.

Today I recieved an email from a wonderful friend that I love to bits who lives on the other side of the world that got me all choked up. He is a great person and a former co-worker of mine here from Bahrain, but is now in Canada freezing his butt off.

It was so very sweet. I just had to post a piece of it it here on my blog so that it is here as a part of my memories.

When we worked together, Sergiy gave me the nickname Diamond. I never really knew why other than he thought I was a bad ass rocking Exec Secretary. (He also loves my cooking and all I have to do is mention either potato salad or caramelized bananna cake, and he will be moved to tears and extreme craving) Anyway,soon he stopped calling me my name altogether and just called me Diamond.

Sometimes, Sergiy would come hang out in my office, since he was a manager of a different division and had the luxury of being able to do it if he felt like it. He would tell me jokes and stories from his time of insanity during his mandatory military service with the Russian Army. These stories are freaking hilarious and Sergiy is so damn funny, especially how animated he is too! He is only one year older than I am, so we have a lot in common age wise as well. He was there for me as a friend the day I found out that my Uncle Bob died suddenly of a massive heart attack. I was a wreck and he was very kind.

Sergiy moved out of Bahrain three years ago when his Canadian residency came through. I miss him. He was so much fun to talk to and be around. To me, good friends are like Diamonds, Emeralds, Rubies, Sapphires and Pearls. (and I love me some jewellry, y'all! Yes indeedy!)

So, today, on a day when I was actually feeling kind of rotten and missing my friends and family and Christmas back home, ok, really sad and like one of Santa's lumps of coal, I had an email addressed to "My Diamond" from Sergiy. Between all his tipsy greetings marinated with too much good red wine and stuffed to the gills with turkey and his looking forward copious (read: more than you could ever imagine ingesting, cause he IS from Ukraine after all!) amounts of Smirnoff vodka Christmas Day, he said this to me:

"God bless you for all the fun that you are to me, for all your loving heart, for your kindness and for being a diamond (it's hard to be the most illustrious, shiny and sparkling all at the same time, but you are!)."

I dont' know if he will ever see this post or not. So I can say only this:

"Thanks a million Sergiy. You're a really wonderful person and friend.

Merry Christmas and lots of love, Diamond"

Now, it's time for me to go make my turkey everyone and watch Arianna's new DVD HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN!

Santa, etc…

I saw Santa Claus tonight in Bahrain. (for those of you wondering, NO, I was not drunk... unfortunately.)

I guess I have to believe in him again, now don't I?

While driving down a dark road, thinking about not much at all (and WAAY too much at the same time) from my location in the passenger seat tonight I eventually noticed the car in front of us for no reason other than the fact that the interior light was on.

Yeah, so what, right?

I turned my unfocused eyes into the car and noticed someone with longish wavy white hair driving. Wearing red. And a red hat.

Yes dear readers. It would seem that Santa has gotten fed up with those damn moody reindeer and all their games and traded in his sleigh for a sleek white 2004 Honda Civic. (It's called City here) And I SAW HIM!

I'm serious. Santa Claus was driving the car and, as I watched, flipped open his cellphone and let his fingers do the walking. I reiterate, I was not drunk, but at this point was beginning to wish I was! (still am wishing in fact) We followed Santa for a while until he reached his destination. The watchman at the compound laughed his ass off when he saw Santa Claus behind the wheel.

I don't blame him.

Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho Ho

Later tonight, while visiting Daddy J, the father of the triplets who had some mutual friends over, Santa came up again, but in the oddest way.

Daddy J and his friends had been drinking, so everyone was pretty silly by this point. I wanted a drink, but am not really into Chivas Regal or Smirnoff, so I just nursed a soda. Never mind, I'm fun even without alcohol.

Started talking about CPR and techniques which in turn led to us talking about Daddy J's opinion that turkeys are really just inflated chickens ...again, which somehow had me explaining the term for male chicken is Cock, which made the conversation go completely downhill from there, cause then the discussion began about how to inflate the male chickens? Giving the Cock a blow*job to inflate it, which made us laugh all the harder (pun SO not intended there) etc… and then Daddy J, 3 sheets to the wind and then some, looked at Z, and from out of nowhere slurred at him:"ya know? FUKKIT. I wanna buy a Santa suit next year and stick your ass in it." We all stared at him in shock... and then he continued " No? Well then,I'll dress your crazy mom up in it ( his grandmonster in law) and she can freaking play Santa." My reply? "Great. Arianna's gonna look at that and say "What the? Santa is a freaking midget and speaks Persian?" which got everyone laughing. (no dear, Santa isn't a midget, he's a TROLL!)

What came out of Z's mouth next had all of us screaming with laughter and me doubled over laughing uncontrollably. Z said "Noooo, not really a midget/Troll. You mean Santa is a TRANSVESTITE?" All of us ----- staring at Z----- "TRANSVESTITE????"

Me: "Santa's – gasp!!!-a drag – gaaaassssspppp!!!! - queen! Santa's a drag queen!!!!!"

I had a slight problem after that which had me still cracking up. Because now, I had the song "I saw mommy kissing Santa Claus" in my head.

I wish Santa would leave me a nice big bottle of Amaretto di Sarreno. I've been a good girl this year. Check your list. Come ON Santa! I didn't say that you're a tranny. My HUSBAND did. Leave his ass the coal, not me!


Christmas Eve Snark

Well dearlings. To all of you that celebrate, Merry Christmas. Also? You'd better have all your shopping done by now, because guess what? You are going to be cursed by EVERY SINGLE retail sales person you come across. Strike that. That works at every STORE you visit. Why?

I'll tell you.

Y'all come barging in and make a freaking WRECK of every single section of the store, that's why. You pick up crap and put it down in another department, and do you know what that means? That means, that poor little salesperson, who makes shit for salary, is gonna have to CLEAN UP THAT DAMN STORE BEFORE THEY CAN SIGN OUT FOR THE NIGHT AND GO HOME. This is usually around 3am for those of you that never worked retail before in your life. I have, once upon a time.

Then, there are those of you that decide to throw a complete hissyfit when you can't find the perfect gift on Christmas Eve, for Christssake. Or the ones that just can't begin to comprehend why this Season's "IT" gift has been out of stock since, oh, HALLOWEEN. No. Sorry if Jimmy or Suzie really want it. You shouldn't have waited, now should you? No. But still, there will be those that think as it just so happens, they are hiding one just for you.Not, sukah!

I won't get into what y'all do to Victoria's Secret, (yes, I worked there too!) cause that's JUST. MEAN. The bra room tho? They all have to be sized, sorted by color, and folded a particular way before anyone can leave. Panties too. It is NOT A PLEASANT TASK for basically minimum wage. And for the record, NO. You will NOT find what is in the catelog, generally speaking, in the store, so stop waving that focking VS Catelogue around in the salesgirls faces, allright? You want what's in the catelogue? Dial 1-800... blah blah blah, or order it online people.

To the male readers of my blog: When you walk into a store with that desperate look on your face on Christmas Eve, HELL, in the days leading up to Christmas, that makes the salespeople with sales targets (and that get-gasp!-comission) VERY HAPPY. Cause you? WILL BUY WHATEVER IS SUGGESTED TO SAVE YOUR LATE PRESENT BUYING BACKSIDE. Heh. Just walk in and prepare to hand over the plastic guys.It'll be a helluva lot less painful than what your loving partner will do to you if you have a truly crappy gift or, Heaven forbid!, nothing at all. To make your shopping experience less painful, I suggest that you have a drink at least before you attempt any puchasing expedition. Take a taxi and get tipsy beforehand if necessary.

I think I've done my duty to the poor retail people of the world for this year. If you think I'm being dramatic, I'm not. Only thing worse than Christmas Eve shift is, Day AFTER CHRISTMAS SALE/RETURNS.

*shudder at the memories*

Now then....

A trip to my neighborhood grocerey store usually gives me some interesting blog fodder and the other day was no exception!

I'm happily meandering down the aisles with my shopping cart listening to the Christmas music being played over the speakers quite loud when I turn the corner and surprise a totally Arab looking dude stocking shelves singing,dancing, and rocking out to Bruce Springsteen singing "Merry Christmas Baby!" Has anyone ever seen the look on a dog or cat's face when they have their temp taken at the vet rectally? That was the look on the guy's face when he saw ME. Heh. Priceless.

I was chuckling my head off for the next 5 minutes off and on. Ok, yeah, and I'm laughing now too!

Then this afternoon, early evening, Z and I are driving around looking at houses and listening to the Christmas Music on Radio Bahrain. DJ plays Elvis singing "White Christmas"... then plays something from the current charts, then plays a Christmas song, then a chart song, then.... Bing Crosby singing.....................

White Christmas.

What the? *Sigh. rolls eyes*

I mean, come ON dude. Pay attention, dammit. White Christmas isn't even the best Christmas song Elvis did man! Blue Christmas by Elvis is beautiful and, well, gets me choked up. And Bing Crosby. The man has sung a gizillion Christmas songs. UGH.

As is. I cannot STAND the new version of "Do They Know It's Christmas" 2004. Faugh. And it gets played.... A LOT y'all. Hello! It is No 1 on the British Charts and... well, we get mostly European charts here. Not all, but most. Somebody give me the original version from ... HOLY SHIT! 20 YEARS AGO.... PLEASE. And Last Christmas by Wham! also. Plus all the oldies. And? A Chipmunk Christmas. Put that on and I will sing EVERY SINGLE SONG FOR YOU AT THE TOP OF MY VOICE WITH A GRIN ON MY FACE.

Just no Mariah Carey Christmas versions please. (the dog whistle pitch makes me wince every time) Or, the new version of Band Aid, ok? I know it's for a good cause, the Band Aid one, just... easy on my ears.......... PLEASE!


The Inquisition Confession – Week 11

Thanks to my buddies for their questions this week. I know everyone is busy with their last minute shopping and wrapping of gifts. I will cut right to the answers!

Carrie Jo asked me an easy one this week. Bless you darling!

What's your earliest Christmas memory?

My earliest Christmas memory would have to be when I was either 4 months old or 1 yr 4 months. I don't know which. But I was tiny enough to be laying under the Christmas tree enthralled with the colored lights in the darkened room. I distinctly remember looking up in the tree. Then, I saw my mom coming towards me in her negligee, smiling and picked me up and that's the end of my memory. It was a feel good memory. It is crystal clear in my mind as if it was yesterday.

Must be why I still like to sit in the dark room and stare (ok, zone out on) at the Christmas tree lights even now. Yes, I'm probably going to go do that once this is posted.

I've always loved Christmas and had many good Christmases. That's my favorite time of the year and one reason that I wanted to get married in December.

Mare actually beat Carrie Jo to her original question and asked me:

What was your Christmas incident ie: All I ever wanted for Christmas was (present) and Santa didn't get it for me and I was so unhappy? And what age were you that you stopped believing in Santa?

Well, I was generally pretty lucky, and I am the type of person to be content with what I am given. But.

The only thing I could really come up with was when I was about 8 or so and I BADLY wanted a Barbie house & furniture. I was really REALLY big into Barbie, I tell you. (I mean, come on, I grew up as an only child cause my half brothers and sister were over 16 years older than me!) I took IMMACULATE care of my Barbies. The clothes, accessories, etc. I was disappointed that Santa didn't come through for me (but poor mama, she was divorced by that time, and things were pretty tight! Those houses were damn expensive. She worked really hard, but still!) "Santa" came through with a Kiss ME Barbie that you press a button in her back and she puckers and makes a kissing noise, which I thought was cool, and a Malibu Barbie (the one with the tan lines and turquoise bikini?) and some clothes, so, I was happy, really excited about that.

Santa screwed me over a year or so later about the Barbie Swimming pool. By that time, I decided to get him but good. I saved up my allowance and b-day money, etc… like a little packrat and had my eye on it at this one store mama liked to go. Every time we would go there, I would go and stare at it on the shelf and plot and plan in my head on how much more I needed to get it.

Then the day came that I had enough. I went to a sales person and asked him to get it down for me. Then I carried it over to Mama. She said "Now Friss, we can't get that today." And I replied "Oh, it's ok, I've got my allowance with me!" So, I got my Barbie pool! Mama was so impressed that I was that determined to get it that I saved so well that she let me get it.

I still have that trait today. If I really want something, I'm just stubborn enough to wait and be patient and find the best way to get what I want. (Which is why this whole infertility thing pisses me off, because so much of it is not in my control) That's how I got Arianna. My stubborn determination. My wedding dress. (Don't ask how much it cost. It cost a ton. Was from Italy Y'all! Hand beaded and made for my measurements. It IS freaking GORGEOUS. Cathedral length train. Ahhhhhh, I love my wedding dress. And yes, Mama said Arianna and her daughter, and any daughter MY granddaughter might have has to wear it. Yes, it is here in Bahrain with me) Mama was muttering under her breath so often during the wedding planning "I should have known when she was addicted to reading Cinderella all the time!"

In fact. I waited, plotted and planned to have my car that I drive now for Two and a half years. Heh. The house I'm in love with and want to buy with the government loan Z got? It's still for sale. See if we don't end up with it. Heh.

About Mare's question when I stopped believing in Santa. I was 10. It was very traumatizing, and this knock down drag out happened between my mom and dad over the phone when I was on my Christmas visitation with him in Florida and Mom called me to see what Santa brought me. It was so traumatizing (ie: dad got REALLY REALLY pissed off at ME) that I blocked out most of it.

It was my last Christmas with him in fact. That next Summer vacation was the last visit I made to him. I didn't see him again until about four years later or so. (way long story)

There you go.

I hope all of you that celebrate it have a wonderful and very merry Christmas!

Love, hugs, and kisses,

Scarlett Cyn


Christmas Hysteria!

Got my box of Christmas Pressies from mama!


Also? I got entirely insane happy about the enclosed candy canes. Yes people, I'm a SUCKER for candy canes. Fortunately for me, two broke en route so, a annual 'fix' for me while the rest went on the tree.

Don't believe me? There I sat on the cold-ass tile floor in front of the Christmas tree next to a big ole box of presents and surrounded by them too from Mama. I did indeed turn into a 4 year old at the sight of Christmas candy. I admit it. Then there was the little incident with the jacket Mama sent for Arianna.

Um, Z walks in and finds with my face buried in something royal blue clutched in my arms.

Z: "What on EARTH are you doing?"
Me: "Sniffing!"
Z: ------- blank stare-------
Me: "Sniffing" *inhales deeply*
Me: "Mama sent Arianna a polar fleece jacket unwrapped and it smells like Mama! Come and SNIFF!!!!!!" (did y'all know I'm part bloodhound?NOW you do!)
Z: *sniffs* "Yeah! It does!"
Me: (look of bliss on face) "yeaaaahhhh" *continued inhaling*

That high lasted until I found two things at the bottom of the box. One was the afore- mentioned candy canes. I squealed "CANDY CANES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" and wiggled around in a strange dance of joy on my bottom. Second discovery? One of my 60 books Amazon shipped to mom's last year. Yes, I'm serious. It's at least 60. At mom's. Long story. Couldn’t' ship through customs here, cause they are bastards and take EVERYTHING. No contact to send to on base at a lesser rate, until now. YAY!. Except. I need to wire Mom money to do it. Sigh. Waiting for JOB. Sh*t. So, she tossed one in the box. And?

I got ALL HAPPY! Another bottom dance of joy. Then, I clutched it to my chest like a little kitten or newborn puppy. Yes. Books are that dear to me. I immediately started digging to see if there was another stuffed in the carton somewhere. No such luck. Anyway, it's one by one of my very favorite authors, so, I can't wait to get started.

Until then………. There are two broken candy canes calling me….



I am officially done with my Christmas shopping. Presents wrapped (well, excecpt for the Santa Claus ones, cause those don't get wrapped in my house in order to differentuate), tagged and under the tree. Stocking stuffers HIDDEN.

I'm proud of myself. I'm usually dragging around Z on Christmas Eve to find Santa gifts, but I was more organized this year.

Ok, also considerably more strapped for cash and a s*itload of time on my hands since I'm not WORKING or anything... But stilllllll. I'm DONE. Apparently miracles DO happen. Heh.

I would like to take this opportunity to wish all my readers a very happy holiday season, whatever your religious denomination.

I would also like to mention that I NEED QUESTIONS FOR THE INQUISITION THIS WEEK!! HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!????????? Come on! It's Christmas! Jeez.

*drumming fingers on desk*


Asshole Moments

And I am pretty sure I'm having one as I type. Let me check....... yeah, I am having an asshole moment.

In case you aren't sure what an 'asshole moment' is, it's when a overall loving, kind, understanding, caring, helpful and generous person (in this case, that would be ME) is having 'asshole' thoughts, or otherwise wrapped up in their own things so much that when they hear someone's good news, they realize that they couldn't really give a rat's ass, or find it in them, at that moment, to be the slightest bit happy for them.

Today I found myself DEEP, D.E.E.P. in an asshole moment at the dinner table. It is so unlike me to feel the way I found myself feeling when Z dropped his suspicions on me like a Nuke.

Sitting at dinner, he was telling me "I think Suz is pregnant. Az, her sister almost told me something, and she was talking to her infertility specialist (that would be Dr. Indifferent/Smartass that dumped my ass on Wand Monkey 2 yrs ago, for the record) on the phone, all whispering, and Az started to say something to me, but then shut up when she got 'the look' from her sister. " That would be his neice. The sister of the one that had TRIPLETS this year. And also the sister of the one that had the little baby boy a month after the triplets were born, that stole the name I had planned to use for my as-yet-unconcieved-son. I tend to trust Z's instincts when it concerns women he thinks are pregnant. Why? He hasn't been wrong yet.

Excecpt in MY case, that is.

Well, FUCK.

Like I wasn't in a bad enough funk as is? Like that physically painful desire for another baby isn't ripping my guts apart again, much like the pain of the ovarian cysts, goddamn them ALL, that are ringing my ovaries like "perfectly matched twin pearl necklaces". (For the record, the Doc that made THAT statement to me yet lives, for some strange reason.) That, while I have been taking care of my very sick triplet neices and nephew, whom I love to distraction, even Maya, the firstborn moody grumpy one, and while holding my admittidly favorite, Talya, and Khalid screaming cause he is jealous of the attention his sister is getting from me, I realise yet again just how much I adore babies and little children, and taking care of them, even when they are so badly sick. When I realize that only blogging and writing makes me as happy as sitting in that room with 3 6 1/2 month olds, an almost 3 year old, and my own 10-year old daughter and ME, on the floor in the middle of it all, playing and entertaining all of them. When I see the joy on their little faces when I walk in to the room to see them and they smile that baby gummy smile at me, my heart just melts.

I was holding Talya close to me, massaging her back to ease her breathing (lungs badly infected) and she was nestled so close to me, with one hand FULL of my hair and the other resting on my breast, and she would occasionally lift her head back to look in my eyes, smile, and then put her head back down. I found myself rocking her, humming a song and kissing her sweet head. She, and the other two, are such good babies, even as sick as they all are, bless them.

I love children. I think you get the hint, right?

So there I sat at the dinner table apparently with a funny look on my face that was somewhat dazed. So much so that EVEN Z noticed it and said "um, what's with that look?" I said "you know? I just can't bring myself to be happy for her if you're right. At least not right now. And that makes me even sadder. Cause I can't. I just can't." Then I got quiet (another shocker, that) and continued to gaze unfocused at some vague thing on the table.

He looked surprised because honestly! I am always happy for others when I find out they are pregnant and he knows it. Even when I had cycle buddies during my IVF trials (all 4 of em), and I didn't get pregnant, but some of my cycle buddies did, I was genuinely happy for them. I mean it. I felt joy that at least, if not for me, it worked for someone.

I feel, quite frankly, cursed. I'm frustrated beyond belief. And if Suz is pregnant, it is yet another failure on my part. Why? Cause, she has infertility issues ALSO, like her big sister Az. Because, she has had 10 frozen embryo's in cryo-freeze for 4 years or so. Her son is going to be 3 in February.

I'm fed up with the pitiful looks I get when people hear about another family member being pregnant, but not me. I'm particulary pissed with the comments that flow my way from Monster when another of her grandaughters ends up announcing a pregnancy, yet another pregnancy, and she makes her remarks about me and my womb being useless and lacking. That bitch. When she tells her son, "Yeah, don't hold your breath for that one (that would be ME) to give you another child. She's useless.". (Screw that old broad and the broom she rode in on.) If that comment didn't really hit so close to the truth, and hurt not quite as much as it does every time she says it, I'd probably rip her a new as*hole, but I don't.

I want a baby. So very badly. For me. And for Arianna most importantly. That biological clock you hear so much about, that I have scoffed at as a complete load of crap for years? Well, its ticking deafeningly loud in my head now.

But most of all? I'm dissappointed in myself and ashamed for my asshole moment.

I should be insanely happy. Why? I forgot to tell you all the good news from Dec 16th, which is National Day here in Bahrain.

Six years ago Z and I applied for a housing loan from the Government. They give you a big chunk of money to do a) buy a newly bulit house b) buy a piece of land c) build a house on land you already own or d) give you a piece of crap govt home or apt. We chose option A for a number of reasons.

1) they give you the most cash that way. 2) you get the approval quicker than the other options 3) we don't own any land, so option c was kinda moot, don't you think? 4) some other reasons. 5) doesn't Option d explain itself well enough? Yeah, I thought so.

The beauty is, the loans are peanuts in repayment amounts and interest on money borrowed. Also? Every now and then, His Most Gracious Majesty gets it in his head to 'forgive' 50% of the amount owed and with the snap of his fingers, half of your loan, and thus your monthly payment, is cut in half, which is hardly anything to begin with.

Now, mind you, the money they give is based on male salary income and is nowhere near enough to buy a house outright, but still, in our case, the government part is literally HALF of the cost of a house. So, we would need to take a loan for the remainder from a normal or Commercial bank to pay the rest of the purchase price.

The catch? You have THREE months to find a place. If you beg nicely, you can get an additional 3 month extension for a total of SIX months to find a place. If at that time, you don't have anything, they take the money alloted for you and give to someone else.

So yeah, for slightly more than we are paying in rent, we can be paying a mortgage payment! Yeah, a home of our own is within arms reach. (Yes, the day of the announcement in the paper, later that afternoon, I was out looking for houses driving around in the rain, wandering around construction sites) If I'm anything, I'm proactive. Heh.

So yeah, you would think the excitement of the house would overshadow the lack of figuring out which room could be a baby nursery, wouldn't you? Yeah, you'd think so.

My other problem comes into play here. Monster, it is a given, will be coming WITH US. SO HOW can I get all 'into' the idea of a new home? Of our first home? He knows I don't want this. Can't take this really, but still, each empty home we walk around, he's mumbling/commenting about which room should be his mom's and there goes my pleasure in it out the window. There is one house I fell in love with when it was being built 6 years ago and the whole top floor (its multi-level) is a Master Suite. I keep thinking defensively about that house. Why defensively? Cause that Master Suite is on the whole top floor of the house and is big. I could barricade myself up there concieveably. And that is defineltly a selling point. Well, that and the fact that it is across the street from the sea and all the windows face the water. But every mention of "Mom would probably be scared to live here, or Oh this could be Mom's room" gets another asshole moment starting up with me.

More house hunting tomorrow. I think I'll do this one on my own.

Faugh. I'm not a bitch. I promise you. Really I'm not.

Precious!!!!! Ohhhh PRECIOUSSSS!!!!!!!!Come Here Precious!!!

To begin with. I'm really perturbed that my local grocery store has NOT- I repeat NOT!!!! - imported Bordens ™ Egg nog this year. So yes, they are most definitely on my shitlist. No doubt about it. And my cat's s-list as well, since I always share with my fuzzy babies (since no one else likes it in the house but moi).

It's been a while since I've told y'all a good joke and I've decided that it's time that I rectify that sorry fact.

The last one I told was about the Southern Belles and "Mighty Fine". Loyal readers of my blog will know what I'm talking about. (To those that don't have the foggiest clue to what I am referring, scroll down and read through my archives, will you? I'm certainly NOT going to re-write it now! )

This is one of my very favorite 'clean' –well, you know me! It's sort of clean - jokes. Please keep in mind where I got this joke from…. My MAMA. (My Mama is sooooooooo cute and so damn funny too!) Here you go!

There is this very sheltered southern girl from a small town that has been accepted to an excellent college in a big city up North. Before she leaves for college, her Mama takes her aside and tells her to be wary of those big city men and not to let them take advantage of her and whatnot to help her avoid their clutches. With this information stored safely away, little Miss goes on off to college.

Miss Thing comes back home for the holidays from college and one day finds herself sitting with her Mama and Aunties. All this time, her Mama has been worried about her, hoping that she never had to use the advice she gave Miss Thing before she left for school in Autumn. Mama can't take it anymore and asks her daughter how she found the young men up North.

Her daughter dutifully replies "Oh mama, you were right, some of the men up there are just like you said! Good thing you told me about them so I knew not to go anywhere NEAR those types. I saw them coming towards me from 10ft away!"

Mama is happy and smiles smugly at her sisters and was about to make a comment to them when her daughter began talking again.

"But you know Mama? There were some OTHER types that you didn't tell me nothing about!!"

Mama, confused slightly, asked her "What do you mean sugar?" to which her daughter answers:

"Well, there are men up there that don't like makin love with women, but with other men instead! They call them 'homosexuals'. And also! There are some women that don't like makin love with men, but with other women and they call them Lesbians!"

Mama, scandalized, said "Oh, really?" knowing full well about both types when Miss Thing says: "Then there are men that kiss you and taste you between the legs!!" to which her Mama and Aunties all say, completely scandalized "REALLY!?? And what do they call those types?"

Miss Thing replies:" Well, I don't know what they're called, but I called him PRECIOUS!"

*ba-dum dum!* *Scarlett Cyn makes her curtsey*