Root, Shoot or Marry?

Root Shoot or Marry? Up, Up and Away, the Mother's Day Game

I had good intentions.

Truly.

There would have been chocolates and carnations and delicately wrapped and almost-fitting undergarments.

There would have been ceramic straighteners and cherry red blenders and (ahem) hand held electric massagers*. 

There would have been breakfast in bed and high tea and maybe a bubble bath and foot rub. Maybe.

But Come.On.  Is that really what we want for Mother's Day?

Or is it this?

Picture this  - it's Sunday morning.  Mother's Day. (And if the scenario doesn't fit you - scroll down to the game).

As usual you've been woken far too early by the far-too-well-meaning whispers of people trying not to wake you.  As usual you've been squashed and smashed as elbows and knees dig into your soft bits while their owners clamber into the middle of your bed before your husband chases them into the kitchen.  As usual you're trying Very Hard not to offer to help as the scent - and possibly the sight - of smoke from burning toast/eggs/bacon/dishcloths reaches you down the hall.

As usual you are gratified and amused and a bit proud as a mother.  But the sneaky thought, the pesky one that won't go away, the one that makes you dodge yourself in the mirror at the end of the bed; it says what happened to the woman?

Just then, listen closely, there's the swoosh of his cape as he lands outside your window. He ducks down from his six-foot-four height and his shoulders fill the windowframe.

The curl of that fringe! The cleft of that chin! And, oh, the way he's grinning like a little boy but looking at you like he's all man. 

In reflex, you pull the quilt a little higher over your Target pjs. "No point," he says in that deep, dependable voice, "X ray vision, remember?"

There's a clatter and scream from the kitchen that can only mean one thing - there's not enough room on the breakfast tray and Littlest has knocked over the OJ with her vase of paper flowers.  Biggest is displeased.

"Well?" he asks, holding out a hand that you know could pick you up and cradle you round the world in a blink, "Are you coming or not?"

* * * * *

You may want to answer that question in your comment - for now we have choices to make, people, and having relaxed the Rules last week I warn you I am going to be Quite the Hard Arse this week.

And the theme, of course, is the Man of Steel himself. Superman, through the ages.

(and Lois, just to keep things straight, so to speak)

Superman Classic: Christopher Reeve

Maybe too cliched for some, but he's the guy who was Superman when I was young enough to believe the right cape could make me fly.  And for my money? Still has the best forelock curl in the business.

Superman Returns: Brandon Routh

This suit intrigues me - is it silicone? One for the rubber fetishists, perhaps.

And thirdly, Superman Lite: Smallville's Tom Welling

I couldn't work out why I didn't know more about this series, which seems quite likeable, but then I checked the release dates.  Duh. There's nothing like birthing twins and having another child start school AND going back to work full time to totally fuck up your prime time viewing plans.

Quietly chuffed about the bondage implications of this pic.  Over to you...

And the ladies:

Lois Lane Squeaky: Margot Kidder

"You've got me... Who's got you?!"

I can't help it, it still makes me smile.

Lois Lane Snarky: Kate Bosworth


Superman meets a cranky Lois - and almost totally fails to charm her.  Nice touch.

And finally for this week, Lois Lane (can I say Skanky?): Teri Hatcher

Sorry, that's probably my Desperate Housewives anti-Susan prejudice coming through.

Right, so that's it. Gird your loins and play away.

And have a lovely, lovely Mother's Day.  Even if you aren't one.

mtc

Bec

*Yeah, sure, they bend them like that so you can reach your own "shoulders". And don't get me started on the cute little round nubby ones that fit in your PALM!

Root Shoot or Marry - Bad Break Ups

BREAKING NEWS: IS ANYONE ELSE HAVING TROUBLE WITH COMMENTS OR IS IT JUST THAT THIS POST HATES SHULA?

'Twould be great if you could let me know  if you can see the comments option - @rootshootmarry  on Twitter or becandcall at optusnet dot com dot au. Ta.

I found this post in the big batch I republished last month - I still haven't sorted them back into their proper dates, is there a simple way to do that, anyone?

Anyhow, this post didn't seem quite finished.  It kicked off with all this angsty stuff about turning 40 (yawn) and then there was a photo missing, and, most telling of all for humble little me, there were No Comments.

Just didn't seem like it made it to the cyberwebs first time around.

So,  if I DID publish it back then, and you've already played this RSM game, and it's just that I somehow lost the comments when I republished even though all the other posts kept theirs? Well it's a good thing that you're a bit older now too and you probably don't remember it too well either.  You poor old thing..

Ready to play? Then let's get serious. This week's resurrected theme is Bad Break-Ups.  I could have called it "It's not you, it's me", or "We can still be friends" - but we're really not talking about that kind of break up. 

Instead, these are the break ups that make you wish you'd done a lot more rooting, and a bit less marrying, before the shotgun appeared.

And because of the break-up theme, of course we're doing them in pairs.  And if threesomes do it for you, I may even relax the Rules this week.  Because I've found it pays to be nice to deviants. You know who you are.

Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman

I know I'm a philistine, but I've found there are very few Old Movies that live up to their hype.  Casablanca does it in spades.

Ilsa: I can't fight it anymore. I ran away from you once. I can't do it again. Oh, I don't know what's right any longer. You have to think for both of us. For all of us.
Rick: All right, I will. Here's looking at you, kid.
Ilsa: [smiles] I wish I didn't love you so much.

Secondly, to Clark Gable and Vivian Leigh

Scarlett: Rhett, don't! I shall faint!
Rhett: I want you to faint. This is what you were meant for. None of the fools you've ever known have kissed you like this, have they? Your Charles, or your Frank, or your stupid Ashley!

and finally to the more modern Carrie Ann Moss and Keanu Reeves.

Anyone who could stay awake til the end of the third Matrix film (it took me several goes) knows that it doesn't end well for the lovers.

Trinity: Six hours ago, I was ready to give my life for you. Do you know what has changed in the last six hours?
Neo: No.
Trinity: Nothing.

mtc

Bec

When in doubt, Wordle.

Because now Joke's started nagging again I feel the need to post twice a week.

mtc

bec