... go here. Carolina shares her latest self diagnosis, and I think I have a few newly defined ab muscles as a result.
And I have a story of my own, but you have to read hers first.
Don't worry ... I'll wait.
Believe me, it's worth clicking over, even if you're lazy like me.
When I was 6 years old, I was digging through our piles of videos looking for something new to watch.
In order to fully appreciate this, you have to know that my mom must have had a secret desire to start a video rental business out of her basement. We had wall-to-wall shelves full of VHS tapes, many of which had multiple movies recorded from TV.
Finally, as I neared the end of my meticulous search, I struck gold. One of my mom's homemade labels, said, "White Christmas with Bing Crosby."
Instead, I read, "White Christmas with Bill Cosby."
I watched the entire movie waiting for a funny black guy to come on screen and start cracking jokes. Finally, I ejected the movie to re-read the label and realized what an idiot I'd been.
I'm sure White Christmas is a great movie, but when you're expecting the comedic stylings of a funky sweater wearing, Jell-O evangelizing jokester, it leaves much to be desired.
Incidentally, this was also my introduction to Bing Crosby.