...

...so I am officially the worlds worst blogger. I could sit here and give you excuse after excuse about why I have failed to write on a regular basis, why my last posts have consisted mostly of random pictures and no actual writing and why it has been almost two full weeks (two full weeks!) since I last put anything up...

I could, but I won't.

Instead, let me regale (regale!) you with a lovely little story about Grandma's playhouse...

I was working in the basement the other day, organizing, cleaning and the like, when I decided to move the bookshelf that is under the woodworking bench. I wanted to put the little bookshelf next to my washing machine so I would have a place for all the chemicals and soaps that one uses for ones laundry needs (said in a British accent). Well, when I moved the bookshelf, a crush of items went crashing to the floor in the process, being that they had been stuffed between the top of the bookshelf and the underside of the woodworking bench. As I went back to clean up my newly made mess, amidst the odd pieces of wood, I found a little surprise...

There it was, laying wide open on the floor from the fall...A playboy magazine...

My jaw dropped in surprise.

And then I started to laugh.

I could just imagine, little grandpa, working away at the woodworking bench, and as soon as grandma hauls another load of clean laundry upstairs, he slides out the magazine from in between the bookshelf and bench and opens it up. He is languorously perusing the pages when he hears grandmas footsteps on the stairs again. He hurriedly shoves the pages back into their hiding spot and picks up his wood project just before grandma comes around the corner carrying another basket of laundry. He innocently peers over his spectacles at her as she loads the washing machine behind him.

Anyway, I picked up the magazine and took it upstairs to the garbage, laughing as I did. On the front cover was a woman in a trench coat with Farah Faucet hair. It was from 1974.

When Scott got home from work, he went to put something in the trash, and noticed the magazine with the trench coat woman staring up at him. He gave me a puzzled look and I realized he was confused as to why there was a Playboy magazine in the trash.

I threw my hands up in the air ..."It's not mine!" ... I said in outrage.

Duh.