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*What Arthur calls her.

Taken, of course, while I waited through Artie’s PT.

He’d reworked the sprinkler lines in the area and put in three new heads. He’d also bought the brick things at Home Depot to go around the mailbox and promised to paint them white. The helper had painstakingly set hundreds of runners into this bed.

I felt ill.

He was so happy to have this job done and I made the appropriate noises… and in fact was happy to do it, for them. But I wasn’t as keen on telling him what I knew I had to, for both our sakes. Let’s just say that when the other shoe dropped, it made a thud.

The upshot is, maybe he’ll listen to me the next time and not do a job unless I say it’s okay. Maybe not, but at least I know that I’ve made myself crystal clear. Even if my husband wasn’t on disability with a deadline looming in the not too far distant future I wouldn’t want to pay for something I said NO to in no uncertain terms.

This morning? He was back, hose in hand, “feeding the babies”. Lord have mercy. I surely do like that man, but he’s making me crazy.

Seeing those guys behind bars makes my heart flutter….

She asked “did you hear that Michael Jackson died?’ in that tone of voice which suggests nothing but quiet murmurs of sympathy would be tolerated.
I disregarded the tone. Thing is, I’m too busy trying to keep the ball of terror lodged in my gut from escaping and wreaking havoc. It’s all I can do right now; my whole being is concentrated on the effort. That and eating ice cream. Well, if not now… when? Damn. Priorities, people. Priorities.

So I didn’t think before answering “that rat bastard pedophile? Yeah, why?”
I’m sure folks down in Galveston heard the explosion. Seems the man just had some ‘issues’ because of his childhood. But he certainly hadn’t touched any children. Uh huh.

For the record, I don’t give a shit what kind or how much music and money he made. He molested children and there’s a special kind of hell reserved for assholes like that. It’s wrong no matter who fucked you up when you were a kid.

For the rest of the ‘poor Michael’ speech I just kept my mouth shut. There’s no way some people will change their minds. Of course, others have seen the weirdness for themselves…

And Grau is the definitive word on the subject, as far as I’m concerned: Freakish monkey loving child molester croaks. Who. Fucking. Cares.
Heh…

Michael, I’m sorry you’re dead…. before we could send you to prison.

As Thurber said, All men should strive to learn before they die, what they are running from, and to, and why.

The bees? That’s a conundrum, that is. I opened the door to our bathroom last night to find four dead bees on the floor. Just lying there.

Things get stranger and stranger.

Oh, and I took this…
I like it, but not as a smaller image. So you can embiggen it if the spirit moves…