Before I tell you all about the whole Angus business, I just wanted to say a few things about comments. I have not been good about commenting and for that I apologize. It is not because I don't have anything to say. In fact, part of the problem is that when I am reading the comments off of my email account (and I read all of them) I usually respond to the comments either in my head or out loud as if you were sitting in front of me talking to me. And so when I return to my blog, in my mind, I have already commented to all of you about all your comments. Yes, I do realize how perfectly demented that may sound to you all, but it seems quite normal to me. I can't help it that you don't have the telepathic ability to hear me reacting to your comments. That's really not my fault, you know. But to give you an idea of the usual reactions I have to the comments I receive, I shall provide you with the following list of things that come out of my mouth after reading your comments:
Uh huh, you know that's right.
HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! Gag, choke on saliva. Cough. Cough. Wheeze.
Oh My God, he/she is crazier than I am!
Damn! I wish Conduit had told me about that funny video earlier so I could have actually used it on my post!
Oh yes, High 5! Well? Don't leave me hanging!
Aw, that's so sweet of them to say. What does he/she want from me?
Hey, that's funnier than my post!
Is he/she stalking me?
Hee hee heeeeeeeee! Squeal like a little piggie.
So at any given time, some variation of the above will occur to any comments I receive. Sometimes I will actually write a response down, especially if I am asked a question. But usually I just completely forget to respond to all my wonderful comments because I am a lazy, crazy demented fool that can barely get her posts out. So please know that I think the world about all your comments and I always respond, even though usually it's all in my head.
So on to My Name is Angus:
My middle child likes to change her names at times. Last year, she went for a whole month insisting that her name was Peep and would not respond to anything but that name. To which she would then peep like a baby chick. A few months ago she insisted that we all call her Baby and she would reply in baby talk, but luckily that didn't last too long.
Last night my middle child came home and announced that from now on she would answer only to the name "Angus." Why Angus, I asked.
"Don't question Angus, no one can know why Angus does what Angus does!"
"Angus?!" My oldest laughed. "That's a boy's name."
"Angus is a boy," Angus replied in her husky little voice.
"Well that means you can't wear your pretty dresses and shoes anymore if you are a boy!" oldest said.
Angus paused and then announced, "Angus is a boy who likes to wear dresses."
"You can't do that!" Oldest said.
"Angus can do whatever Angus wants!"
"It's bath time," I cut in.
"Angus does not take baths!" she proclaimed.
"And why is that?"
"Angus is a boy and boys do not take baths!" she said.
"Ummm, who said that?"
"Angus says that because all boys are dirty and stinky!"
"Well in this house, no one is allowed to be dirty and stinky, even boys," I said.
"But Angus is not even dirty and stinky yet!"
"Angus better get her butt upstairs and in the water before she loses some privileges," I responded.
"Angus is not amused!"
"Mommy is not amused either, now go upstairs."
"But first, Angus will leave you with a parting present," Angus says just as she sticks her little butt out and farts pretty much in my face.
"ARGH! That is really disgusting!" I shouted. Angus smiles and says "I told you Angus was a boy."