John Wayne Gacy really ruined it for me

I drove to Chehailis on Sunday to have lunch with old friends. 

"Are you afraid of clowns?" their mother asked out of the blue.

"not really, but then again I haven't really come into contact with a lot of clowns, now that I think of it. Maybe your odd rodeo clown, once in a blue moon, that's about it."

We were washing dishes, goofing around and talking hummus breath.

We were looking all over the place for sunglasses.

I was trying to decide if I wanted that green candle. 

We were drinking coffee and dropping chocolate cake on the floor and wondering how hot it might get.

We were sweeping the floor and looking for a dustpan.

We were wondering if it's a good idea for a child to drink a glass of 1/2 and 1/2.

We were laughing about ice packs that look like enema bags and a rusty screw I found on the drainboard.

We were remembering the laundry room in Idaho and how big it was. 

We were lamenting small refrigerators and the high cost of remodeling. 

We were talking about that big buck that just walked onto Uncle Pete's place last week.

We were talking about the gold Plymouth Duster and I was saying only wussies can't drive stick. 

I was telling about the time I drove a 1967 Scout in the snow that was a stick shift, and how happy I was to know how.

We were saying "don't run in the house, don't slam the door, don't pout, use a coaster." over and over.



Karen said "John Wayne Gacy really ruined it for me." and it took a couple of minutes for me to realize that we were back on clowns.