Kewl

Okay, so...it's long been established that I am just NOT cool.

Living near Los Angeles, the hotseat of "cool," has only driven the fact home to me.

How terribly embarrassing...

I am so uncool that I didn't even know you're supposed to spell it "unkewl".

I am so uncool that my three-year-old is embarrassed to be seen with me.

And how uncool is this? I still say "awesome." (Blushing mightily at that admission.)

Oh, I make my attempts. Somehow that only seems to make it worse. "Yo, ho, homedog," I might say to my husband, "Whaddup? What's the 911? I mean the star-69. Listen, G, the dinner-izzle is in the oven-ozzle..."

'Round about this point my husband runs away in horror, shouting over his shoulder, "I WISH you would stop following me, you perfect stranger whom I don't know and have never met and, well, don't know. Now GO AWAY..."

Then he puts on his sunglasses. Helps waylay identification later.

To heck with him anyway! I'm the O-G with the 8-8-8 and if he doesn't know it, well...he's just a dizzle.