My Love for Terrible, Corny Things

That's part of what I just texted my boyfriend after I sent him a link to a stupid Natasha Bedingfield video.  I'm too ashamed to post it here or even reveal what the name of the song is.  It's so corny and awful, but I love it.  I love terrible, corny things.  Like Scandal.  Like the 90s Sabrina with Harrison Ford and Julia Ormond that doesn't have any black people in it.  Like Christian rock.

I've had a few days full of traveling, meeting my boyfriend's family and then meeting more of his family on his graduation day, and now impulsively deciding to surprise my own mother on Mother's Day.  When I entered the house (I have a key), she thought I was an intruder and she went from muttering a determined, "In the name of Jesus" as she marched into the foyer to her voice raising eight octaves saying, "Chantell! What are you doing here?" and jumping up in down in motherly delight.

We (me & bf) had a little disagreement (that we ironed out).  How you gonna spend all this time with my family, then up and say deuces to see yo family without me? We been together more than six months now and I still ain't met yo daddy yet? (My fake rendering of him if he spoke Ebonics.)

Thou shalt meet mine father.  Let not your heart be troubled.  We shall arrange an appointed time, perchance, the first weekend of June, once mine father hath completed his schoolmastering duties.  (My fake rendering of myself if I spoke King James English.)

After speaking with missionaries to France my home church hosted today, I learned that my French officially sucks.  They said it was better than comme si comme ça, but I know better.  And they say the DELF B2 certification, once achieved, lasts forever.  C'est pas vrai.

So, after this little surprise drop-in, I have a week of expanding a 10 page article to a 20 page article to look forward to, then I zoom off to Boston for a couple of weeks.  Then I zoom back and do some more work.  And some more work.  And it never ends.  But I ain't complaining, doe.