So, here I am back at work after a long, sordid journey to see my sister and pesky brother-in-law. They fed me grapes, hung on my every syllable and treated me like the queen I am!
Ok, ok…so that didn’t really happen. In fact, due to circumstances beyond my control (what isn’t beyond my control?), the entire long sordid journey didn’t happen. Rox and I stayed home, in the middle of the wild, wild northern Ontario wilderness. Does that even make sense? The wild northern Ontario wilderness?
Speaking of which, my mother told me that my blog sometime doesn’t make sense. She said “I was reading something about you forcing children to dance and then you were talking about someone being a lightweight…it made no sense.”
Oh really? Just remember you raised me, ma. What does THAT say? Ha!
Ha ha!
He he he..ok, maybe that wasn’t so funny.
Anyhow, here are some short snippets that hopefully make sense. If they don’t, blame my mother.
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On Saturday I:
1) Spent a loooong time washing my car: vacuuming, washing, Windexing. It sparkled!
2) Took my dog and my ma’s dog to the beach.
What I should have done:
1) Taken my dog and my ma’s dog to the beach.
2) Spent a loooong time washing my car: vacuuming, washing, Windexing. It would still be sparkling!
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On Sunday I had a flat tire.
There are people in this world who have never had a flat tire. I am not one of these people. I’ve had 4 flat tires in my life. I think my quota is done.
My favourite flat tire was along the 401 highway. I was with my pesky brother-in-law’s mother and his gramma. We changed the tire at the side of the highway while cars whizzed passed us. His gramma kept trying to hold up a sign that said “EMERGENCY! CALL 911!” in big, bright red letters. His mom kept telling her to stay off the highway – and to put that thing away for goodness sake!
And then I got in trouble for putting the pie back in the trunk sideways. Those were good times.
I hate flat tires. And I don’t want anymore of them, thank you very much.
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Lemon rum. That is all.
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