"Big Mammaw, I lost a tooth," my 7-year-old great-niece Raqueal told my mother, who is her great-grandmother.
Already we have a complicated relative talking. Tell me more, tell me more.
I was a couple of hours behind the arrival of Raqueal, Heather and Allen Wogan III, who we call Minnie Me.
Every other Friday night, my nephew, also an Allen who has been given the nickname Porky, gets his three children for the weekend.
Generally, my mother picks up the children on her way home from work since Porky does not get home until about an hour later.
I feel like this blog will just be me pasting portions of the text, clapping my hands and making the face. Sometimes additional words are not needed. Perhaps the Wogan cannot be parodied.
I toyed with the idea of posting all WoganSpeak in Red Letters, similar to the way that Jesus' words are red in the New Testament. As soon as I had that thought, though, I was struck twice by lightening. Since we are relying so much on the weather to finish our home improvement projects, I'll let someone else here make that administrative decision.
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