It is raining and the remaining 1.2 million snails that I have not bagged and tossed are milling around, climbing the windows, sliding across the driveway. They too shall know my wrath.
It is raining and I am leaving the chicas locked in their coop. They have light, space, food and water, but they are still rattling their bars and demanding freedom. They never take shelter from the storm. Wet hens are a sight.
It is raining and the boys are fed. Max has had both of his breakfasts. I hear Grandma and Grandpa stirring. The cats are restless. It will take them a while to adjust to the wet day arrangements of staying inside.
The theme of this day is: "Get Busy," or "Errands and Other Child Abuse." Must: go to library, get haircuts, buy Grandpa's Lotto ticket, buy food and things that clean. Also must: wash clothes (+ dry+fold+put away,) clean *master bedroom,* settle other thousand pre-drive to wedding details. I have made a list, and a calendar, and I am determined to be successful.
Last night I answered another telemarketer's call:
Me: Hello (casual, slightly detached, very sophisticated)
Them: Yes. Is this...can I speak with Mr. Vlikin...burg? (annoying, uncertain, determined, wrong, close, but very wrong)
Me: No one here by that name (amused yet bored)
Them: Well...you can help me...(eager, scripted)
Me: (laughing) So, I am not who you called for, but I can "help" you?
Them: Anyone over eighteen (light bulb flickering)...you are over eighteen, right?
Me: No.
Over and Out!
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