Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content.
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| Like The Queen Whatever happens to strike my fancy, but surely some sort of fiber content. |
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0 Comments:Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom] Saturday, July 30, 2005 I am now driving a car with new axles, new tires, and some other expensive new thing I bought last spring. It no longer growls as I tool on down the highway and I can listen to my Modern Scholar tapes at a less deafening decibel level. If the carpet beneath the gas pedals weren’t wearing away into pock marks, I might think I had a new car. Just so long as I didn’t actually look at it. It’s a white car. There are fortylevendyhundred white cars in the world and mine looks like everybody else’s only rattier. I whined about it a week or so ago, and wise BD reminded me that driving down our lane would make anybody’s car look ratty - it’s why the hubcaps have all flown off all our vehicles’ wheels - even the truck! With an easily distracted sigh, I accepted my fate of shabby transportation and let my mind drift to other things. No more fiber news than yesterday. I have been thinking I’ll get in some spinning over the weekend, which, in fact, I may still do - but There is always that but, though, isn’t there? And the but in this GetOffYerBUTt is that my kitchen cabinets are now official toxic waste dumps. I can go long and long without seeing the crud and dirt and grunge in my surroundings. Just shut the cabinet door, wipe it down and go on to Other, Better, Things. But August looms. Family Reunion is on its way. Guests, comprised of Real Humans, with Hygiene, will run the risk of death by toxic shock while looking for a bowl or a pan or some red food coloring. P is visiting this weekend. What if she were to look in one of those fly blown cabinets? What if she were to see just how slovenly I really am? What if? Of course, she lives with D and has a Porch. Besides, she loves me, so she would only be disappointed or grossed out or experience some other, milder form of rejection. I doubt she would abandon me. She is also someone with whom I’m comfortable enough to actually let her watch me gut my cabinets. It might be fun to have someone to talk to while I did so. Sort of a sign of true friendship, right? A feminine bonding experience. Sort of an "I’ll show you mine so you won’t ever have to be uncomfortable about me seeing yours." Sort of like telling someone what you weigh. And then - if there is ever a day when it is neither 98º and/or 98% humidity, I’ll rent the Rug Doctor and clean out last winter’s memories. I would have done it in the spring only we had a puppy - why bother. And since we progressed past the scoop stage, it’s been too H&H. The rugs would never have dried, leaving my house an even spongier petri dish for moldNmildew. So. We will sacrifice to Brigid, He Xiangu and Hestia with prayers for one dry, only warm, day on which, no matter how late at night it is, I will bathe those rugs. Nevertheless - I will put in a little more time on HeyBaby and come Sunday afternoon I will ply up whatever I have managed to spin. Monday morning I’ll have the fun of picking out a New Color from the color bag. Well, durn. There was something else I wanted to write about, but I forgot what it was. Menopause Moment, huh? posted by Bess | 6:49 AM |
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