It’s Not My Fault, They Hounded Me Into It

People, is there really that much more you need to know about me?

I share more here with you than with some of my closest friends, but it appears the appetite for random facts about Mrs. Chicken is rather voracious. I was tagged by no fewer than four people for the Seven Facts meme that’s making the rounds – again.

I love you all, and that includes Jonathan, Tastes Like Crazy, The Bean Chronicles AND Ophelia Rising – and that is the only reason I’m beating this poor departed horse again. I’m not tagging anyone for this.

What can I say? I’m such a rebel.

Here you go, folks. Remember, you have only yourselves to blame.

1. My engagement ring is an antique cameo, which was also my mother-in-law’s engagement ring. She divorced my father-in-law after eight years, so I’m still not entirely sure wearing it isn’t a bad omen. The fact that Mr. C proposed to me in the middle of an argument seemed apropos.

2. My wedding ring is a custom-made platinum band with three bezel-set diamonds, one round and two pear-shaped. The pear-shaped stones are set sideways. We had it designed for us, and based it on an antique ring with mine-cut diamonds (they used to cut the tips off so that the stones would lie flat) that we found in a shop in England. The original was $15,000. Mine was less.

3. My parents sent me to England by myself for three weeks the summer I turned 13, to visit a friend who moved to the UK the previous year. It sealed my fate as a lifelong Anglophile.

4. I have hairy toes. I wax them. ‘Nuff said.

5. I like my tea strong, with plenty of honey and lemon. I prefer British tea, PG Tips. If I was a true Brit, like Jonathan, I’d take it black, or with milk. But I’m a Yank at heart, no matter how much I love Victoria.

6. The Poo’s original due date was Christmas Eve. Seeing as how I hate Christmas, it seemed like a cosmic joke – or punishment. However, the first week of December my doc finally listened to my complaints about the searing pain at the bottom of my ribcage, and started feeling around down there. “Oh yeah,” she said from behind my legs. “That’s a foot. She’s breech.”

I had a scheduled C-section on Dec. 15, and The Poo was born at 5:51 p.m. and she was seven pounds, 15 ounces. Her lucky number? Five. (Is this cheating? It is really about her. Oh hell, who cares.)

7. I’ve been to Paris three times, and I have never seen the Eiffel Tower.

Hey! Wake up! No fair snoozing! It wasn’t my fault. Blame them.

ps – I owe The New Girl a meme, too. Soon, I promise. As soon as I stop hacking up a lung. Nothing like borderline pneumonia to slow a blogger down.