Just before my guy slipped off to slumberland, he turned his head toward me and mumbled, "gotcher rated booked". now usually I can apply my great powers of deduction (and boy you should see my inductions, them some mad skillz) and translate most of his midnight ramblings, but this time none of it made sense. i blame it on trent lott. why? cuz i can. and cuz he helped make mississippi's schools what they are today. which includes the enunciation (and lack thereof) and elocution of all the chilluns schooled ri'icher where we is. gahd, i love the south, the state, and my home-town (cuz i chose to move here, and chose to continue to live here, and if i didn't like it, kwicherbitchin n move on). but i digress.
after mulling over the message and its myriad of possible meanings (including "got your raisin hooked", on what, i ask, but then again, it ought to be obvious being that they tend to be covered in powdery white stuff when i pick them out of my cereal), i finally resigned myself to the fact that i was not going to know until morning and even then, maybe not ever; when my guy sat straight up and then went to the kitchen (cuz goat just doesn't hold you for long), tossing over his shoulder, "got your reiki book" (that i've been wanting for months and months but that we only ordered two weeks ago and has only just today showed up at his place in the mail). oh! that!
that makes so much more sense than "goat grated cook".