Oh nuts, I forgot the title!

I’m pretty sure I’m the only woman in the United States who has not bought a “cold shoulder” type shirt, blouse or dress.  You know, the ones with the cut out or slit at the shoulder.  I guess you could say, I’m literally giving “the cold shoulder” to thee cold shoulder.

Anyone who has knows me, from like kindergarten on, knows I have the famous Dunn aka middle linebacker shoulders…wait, I think the “Brothers 4” were mostly running backs and quarterbacks, not line backers….but you get the picture.  Showing off my already large shoulders is like the last thing I want to do!  Okay, my gut says that’s a lie.  That’s true. The gut is far worse.

Have I mentioned before that my eldest “Brothers 2” coined the term of endearment, “Bloat Gut” for me when I was in 6th grade and then proceeded to share it with all of their 7th and 8th grade cute guy friends?  No? Well, the good news is, for the next two years all the cute guys would acknowledge me (yeah!) in said Eliot School hallways.  The bad news is, their greeting went like this, “Hey, BLOOOAT!” Snicker, snicker.  Grudge? Nah, Truth hurts? Definitely.  It’s genetic, right closest thing to a sister, Jerry?

I’m really not sure if they coined this term for me after the (fat) plastic red whiffle ball bat we all swing, swang, swung in our back yard for 36hrs/daily! or if the bat was coined after me? It’s name was “Bloat bat.”  That Bloat bat was duct taped up and put back together at least 200 times…when it officially could not be saved with anymore duct tape CPR, it was buried in our back yard, ceremony and all.  We had neighborhood games that rival the World Series.  Catch the ball off the roof, yup, it’s an out.  Get hit with a thrown ball, you’re out! (If Timmy threw it and you’re the only sister, you’re also now crying because you have welts on your thigh mirroring the holes in the whiffle ball!)  (No video replays necessary in our day!) Over the roof, into the front yard, Homer!  Whiffle ball, sadly, stuck in the gutter, if the rake couldn’t get it down and nobody knew where the ladder was, game over.

Us: “What’s for lunch, Mom?”

Mom: “Where’s Neil?”

Us: “IDK, but when we find him, he’s going on the roof to find the ball!”

How in the world did I start this blaaaag with 2017 cold shoulder clothing, morph into a 1973 whiffle ball stuck in the gutter and 4 y/o Neil (Dog Potato Salad, don’t worry, I’ll explain, one of these days) up the street?  Now that’s talent!!

Xo, Kate 12/1/17