Okay, really it should be Dork Genes, but everytime I say it, it sounds like I'm referring to pants constructed of blue denim. So I'll call them Dork Jeans.
My mom called me the other day to ask if I wanted to know where I got my Dork Jeans from. Well, I pretty much knew the answer to that (they're inherited), but I'm always up for a good DJ story! No, I'm not going to rat out my mom - she can start her own blog and tell her own tales of dorkiness. However, I can certainly tell all the dorky accounts of my own doing, should I be so inclined.
What cracks me up is that I'm really not that ditzy, dorky, etc. I'm a bit silly, for sure, but I still come up with some doozies.
DJ #1: A few years back, hubby installed a nice, new (FREE!) microwave-range hood above the stove. It's quite wide, but not as deep from front to back as the old (really old) microwave we'd had since 1987. I have a couple of those nifty little Micro-Cookers from P*mpered Ch*f that I just love. I put it on the center of the turntable in the microwave and realized that the handle hit the front or back of the microwave. I promptly
DJ #2: I recently went to Mom's house, along with my cool new Super Scr*bble Deluxe to have some lexeme fun. The board folds in half (it's hard plastic) and when I opened it, her table cloth was caught in the middle. However, instead of saying that the board had pinched her table cloth, I said that I had pinched her clothes pin! Now where did that come from?!? Like I can't tell a clothes pin from a table cloth. Yep, wearing those Dork Jeans again!
As more of these stories creep back into my conscious brain, I'll share them (or not, when they're just downright TOO embarrassing). One good thing about having Dork Jeans is that I'm almost never at a loss for a good laugh, and it's usually at my own expense. Paid in full by my ancestral Dork Genes.