Lines in the sand

It’s official: I’m going to have a grand niece.

David and Sheba are having a girl!  Crazy.  I learned this when David posted the news on Facebook and told The General when I came home.  “I was kinda hoping for a boy, ” I said.  “Why?” asked The General.  “Keep the line going, even though it skipped a generation (David is the son of The General’s sister), although it’s not “pure” our last name, it’s still a line.”  “And that’s important to you?” he retorted.  “Of course!  I’m a genealogist!” I exclaimed.  I walked out of the room before we could get into a discussion – The General’s name dies with him on his branch.  “It’s archaic!” came his voice from the next room.

But it got me to thinking:  My family name is dying out on my mother’s side.  My father’s side is alive and well and will continue on and on.  The maternal line I was tracing, I realized, dead ends with all the relatives I’ve found thus far.  And by dead ends, I mean daughters.  Sure, my alleles are in a good portion of the white population of Detroit, but they’re lost by name.  It’s not anyone’s fault.  It’s a 50/50 chance and my line just wasn’t to be.  But with 5 sons who reached sexual maturity, there’s got to be a pure line.  I’ve got 3 more leads, I hope I find something.  A direct decedent of Grandpa August on my line!

It’s too bad we’re not Jewish: their lines are traced by mom.  Why?  Cuz you can prove yo mamma easier than you can prove yo papa.

Speaking of lines – tan lines to be exact – I bought a surfing bikini online.  I found an ad for it on Facebook.  I never click on ads, but this one called.  I’m bringing back the LBB this year!  I got the glam top (one word: hotttttt) and the hipster bottoms, an internet search assured me hipster bottoms are great for pear shapes like myself.  After a horrendous night at that coal mine that pays my mortgage, it was a welcomed surprise.  A surfing bikini is an athletic tight fitting suit: with my huge butt and non-existent boobs, I’m a target for ocean-induced flashing with regular suits.  The top fits perfect, as if it was custom made for me.  The bottoms?  Well, I got the largest size they offer.   I thought it fit okay, but The General thought otherwise.  “You need the next size up,” he said.  “You’re falling out of it.”  “There is no next size up, ” I sighed.  Apparently, surfers are jockeys of the sea and quite small compared to my 5’7 medium frame/large ass.”  So needless to say, I’m returning it.  I’m not sure if I’ll get a different style – like the one that ties, so I can adjust the butt:suit ratio – or if I’ll take The General’s advice and wear board shorts for the rest of my born days.  This is totally counterproductive to getting my bikini line lazered.  I’m keeping the top.  I look like I have boobs.  And it won’t roll up or move.  Maybe, just maybe, this will be my year where I won’t break any public decency laws at the beach (well………………maybe not, heheheh).

Lines in the sand for sure.

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