Not So Brave

Sir Robin and I were in the yard, chillin'. Shooting the breeze. I was highly motivated this morning. I did a lot of out of doors labor, here at Cramalot, so I guess I was feeling entitled to some me time. Me and Sir Robin. Besides, I think he needed to get out of the kitchen, where, once again, the main topic of conversation was zombie apocalypse, zombie shuffle, zombie runners, airborne zombie virus vs. blood to blood viral transfer etc... Yeah, we pretty much both were happy to have some distance from that.

Sir Robin is a good guy, but relaxing is not his forte. He's a stressy little fellow. Sorry, Sir. Just sayin'. So, maybe I shouldn't have started listing what needs to get accomplished around here... the stuff I did not complete during my inexplicable labor surge. I was rambling away about...

painting the barn floor, building an aviary, designing goat pens, cleaning my office, painting the house, putting a new roof on the house, preparing for a birthday party, and two graduations, carpooling two field trips, once and for all making sense of my paper work and bills, dentist tomorrow, summer school registration on Monday, clean out the refrigerator, clean out the RV make children clean out RV, send regrets to wedding invitation (regretfully,) birthday gifts for four, baby gift for one, find two library books, clean out photo files on computer, fertilize berry shrubs and garden beds, find someone to make the shower in the guest bathroom work, scrape and hose dead pumpkin from the entry... even though it's kind of fascinating at this point...

Sir Robin?

Clenching his belly, he implored, "Please, good lady. Have mercy. Wilt thou not cease telling these tales of domestic perils?"

Sorry, Not So Brave Robin. Hey, be glad I didn't mention the septic field, or ... oh, right. Sorry.