Tag - Lucy
How Lucy rolls:
Damn straight we be hatin’, cat! You’re shedding all over a stroller that cost us — I’m rounding up here — fifty-two-thousand dollars at the Overpriced Dolls ‘R’ Us store! Hmpf.
We were watching E! News last night to see if they would share any more naked pictures of Prince Harry when Jason Kennedy alerted us to something very troubling — yes, perhaps even more troubling than the fact that Jay-Z is remaking Annie starring WILLOW SMITH.
You got a VERY large tattoo of your mom’s face on your arm. *Sigh* Oh, son…
Look, we understand what it’s like trying to get your mother’s attention. Lordy, do we ever understand. You live in the shadow of your endless sisters. We live in the shadow of the two rugrats our mom popped out in the past three years. It hurts when Mom forgets your name… and stops playing “Chase the Laser Pointer!” with you… and barely deigns to pat your head.
We bet that your water bowl has been neglected for weeks, too.
But a tattoo of your mother that’s so big, even Stevie Wonder can see it? (Sorry, we inherited our corny sense of humor from our dad.) That’s not exactly going to do wonders for your already rocky dating life, young man. In the future, might we suggest more subtle ways to get your mom to look your way — like meowing loudly in her face at 5AM or leaving a furball in her favorite shoe or frenetically running up and down the stairs for a minute, then collapsing into an eight-hour nap?
We’re just sayin’…
… You have other options.
Wishing you the best of luck with that sock line! Be sure to keep us afoot of any updates.
Marcy & Lucy (“The Cats”)
There was a young cat who lived on a shoe,
But her mom wanted to wear the boot, and didn’t know what to do!
So she lured Lucy off with a kitty treat
And offered the cat a stiletto while slipping the boot on her own feet!
“Oh no! Did they give you the reverse Lion Cut?” Lucy wonders, noticing Drew’s bald head.
I would be jealous — after all, she’s young, cute and rather touchy-feely — but I know Mr. Candy doesn’t like his women hairy, so I’ll let this one slide.
Sits on the dining room table no matter how much we yell, refuses to use utensils, greets house guests with poop stuck to her butt. Yet she still has better manners than our two-year-old.
“Don’t let it get out that I’m sweet to you, ‘kay, kitty? I’ve been working hard on my Terrible Twos and have earned a reputation I’d like to uphold!”
A lady who willingly steps on the (baby) scale after a day filled with hot dogs and hamburgers and potato salad is a brave lady, indeed.
The ridiculous lion cut Lucy had to undergo due to unfortunate dreadlock growth (they were so 1970s), the very cut that made me burst into tears when Mr. Candy released her from the kitty carrier and she darted across the room looking like a rat with furry boots, has been the most liberating thing to happen to Lucy since learning that kitty treats do not go directly to her thighs. (Must be nice to have a youthful metabolism, I tell ya.) I was afraid she would lock herself in the bedroom, screaming MY LIFE IS RUINED! — as, um, somebody else in this house has been known to do (*AHEM* Mr. Candy) — but no…! With her new streamlined ‘do, Lucy prances around the house with a sassy attitude, earning herself the nickname “Lucy Fierce.” Or, as Skye calls her, “Lu Lu,” right before giving her a kiss. (Yeah, she and the cats are sickeningly cute together. Just never when I have a camera in my hand. Of course.) Lucy Fierce is so full of herself now that she has taken over our bed — Mr. Candy and I are reduced to sleeping on the sides of the mattress, holding on for dear life (not an easy feat when eight months pregnant) — and chases Marcy, more than twice as big as she is, around the house. Fifteen-pound Marcy invariably ends up hiding from her ferocious six-pound sister. So ferocious, in fact, that I’m certain she just wants to give Marcy a wet willy or snuggle together for a nap.
“I am embarrassed for you,” Mr. Candy told Marcy upon finding her tentatively peeking out from behind the curtains to make sure the coast was clear.
“As am I for you,” Marcy told us upon finding us sleeping on the floor while Lucy Fierce sprawled across our Tempur-Pedic, the remote control in one furry boot, InStyle magazine in the other.
The power of the lion cut: who knew?