SwampMan told me that he loved me and I was “wonderful”. Hunh. “What the heck does that mean, wonderful, anyway?” I queried. I can’t imagine how in the heck “wonderful” can be applied to a middle aged woman with gray-striped hair, an expanding waistline, and a less than ladylike vocabulary who figures that she’s the Goddess of All That She Surveys. Maybe dinner was wonderful?
“Ummmmmmm,” stalled SwampMan, who clearly hadn’t thought that remark through. “Isn’t the definition of ‘wonderful’ full of wonder? So there you are. You’re full of wonder, so you’re wonderful.”
Well, he had me there. A day doesn’t go by when I don’t say to myself “Now, I wonder why the hell I did THAT!” or “I wonder where the heck I put my keys?” Yep. I’m definitely full of wonder. I’m probably more wonder full than anybody else I know.
A1A South 