I am somewhat embarrassed to admit I just watched a teeny tiny brown bug appear on my finger as I slid pasta from its box...ugh. It is now a dead bug, which I am Googling. My bug does not match any of the photos that are associated with flour infestation, thankfully, but it's still a bug. Blech!
I have an immaculately clean kitchen. Really. You could eat off the floor. So, now in my "free time," which Maggie Mae keeps reminding me to make the most of, while Husband is away on business, I am feverishly going through the pantry, just to make sure all perishables are sealed in containers and Mr. Dead Bug has no other friends in town.
I was looking forward to linguine, butter and parmesan. Just me, the bowl and the tv remote. Oh, the best laid plans. The pasta is in the trash, with Mr. Dead Bug.
I spent my first "free" day over the weekend lunching with Mother-in-law. Whipped cream from her waffles kept sliding down her shirt. "I'd really like a bib. My friend Betty has a pretty bib." Napkins among the senior set are so yesterday. Naturally, I went bib shopping.
And so, Maggie Mae, this delightful concept of yours, although a perfectly wonderful idea on paper, is not exactly translating into real life.
There are still the usual chores one must attend to. Feeding the farm animals for one. Wookie's cat litter box doesn't change itself. There's Mother-in-law. Last night she called after 9:00 p.m. I was sure we were taking a trip to the emergency room. She wanted to discuss a rash on her bum and inquired, "What do you call the cream you use on a baby's bottom?"
"Desitin," I replied.
"No, that's not it." And without skipping a beat she said,
"I'll spell it for you." Mother-in-law began slowly. "It's D-E-S-I-T-I-N."
1 comment:
:), ;), :)
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