You Say Potato, I Say Potatah

Okay, so I have a confession. I am a farmers/dairyman’s daughter. I spent my childhood years in a little farming community called Stone, Idaho which has the population of about 25 and that’s if you count the dogs and cats that call that place home. I spent the majority of my upbringing drinking whole milk (you know the kind that comes straight from the cow). I was a member of the “Udder Power” 4-H club where I literally walked a cow around in circles on a leash, because that’s what us folk from the stick do. However, I honestly didn’t know that wire fencing stuff with the prickly parts was called “barb”ed wire fencing. You might have noticed that I thanked my little sister in my last post for QUIETLY editing my mistake. Let me just say that I am so glad that my dear, sweet, little sister found my error rather than some reader that would announced in the comment section to the entire internet (or the three of you that read my blog) that I indeed called a BARBED wire fence a BOBED wire fence; because that simply would have been more embarrassment than I could have taken. Don’t you think bobed wire fence seems a much more appropriate name for it anyways? You know, because most Bob’s are pokey, made of metal, and spend the majority of their time standing around keeping cows in a field.

 I have to be the first to admit that more often than not when I am singing along to the radio (probably 10 notches louder than what I ever should be singing) Spencer spends the majority of the time correcting my misinterpreted lyrics. How was I supposed to know that when Carrie Underwood sings “Before He Cheats” she was saying carved my name into his leather seats NOT carved my fame into his legacy?

To make myself feel better I have to add that a couple years ago Spence asked if we should take the air mattress for a little weekend trip that we were taking to my sister’s house. I replied, “No, she has that hide-a-bed.” Spencer was quiet for a minute then all of the sudden as if something divine had hit him he said, “Oh I get it, HIDE A BED not Hyda Bed. I thought that was the brand of the couch.” Let me just say, Brynlee there’s no hope…there’s no hope!