OK, I’m a naughty bad slack poster, and there are far too many stories to tell in the time I have. It’s T-minus 7 hours until we hit the road for the Northern Mountains and a week of going nowhere we can’t float.
The highlights:
Our beach trip from months ago was a day trip. Meaning we rode 3 hours to the beach in our bathing suits, frolicked in the water and on the sandy shore, got some sun, got pounded by modest waves, played catch, got some beer, and had seafood at an oceanside crab shack. There was no hotel room, no cabana, no nice place to rinse and change. So, we changed in the icky public outhouse and rode home in whatever found its way into our bathing suits. For 3 hours. The phrase ’sandy vagina’ takes on new significance for me since then.
Our birds have flown the coop. I have pictures to prove they were here, but there is no more contact from the schmumpins. There is evidence they WERE here, in little white splotches on the deck. But little else, and it is sad. I hope they’re still flying (literally, here on earth and not with little angel robes and halos and crap).
We were visiting friends in VA a cuppa weekends ago, and their adorable little girl decided it was her turn for stand-up. She addressed her mom, “Knock knock.” Dutifully, mom said, “Who’s there?”
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Knock knock.”
“Who’s there?”
“Orange.”
“Orange who?”
“Orange banana split eyeballs!”
And that, my friends, is the best knock-knock joke of the year.
Shrinking Piggies has finished its 6-month challenge! Go show some love and comment on the recent wrap-up stories, mine is coming after b’cation. Unless we find some wiffy up in them thar hills, in which case I might post mine, as I don’t have any unread books in hand. None of us except for the inimitable NCP have reached our stated goal, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t good progress. I’m proud of us Piggies, and for sticking to the program no matter what. I’m partway there, plus I’ve taken up wogging – so far so good still. We’re up to 5-3-2-5-3-3-2-5 for a workout (alternate walking and jogging, walking first), and it’s getting easier the more times we do it. Next week is scheduled to have a 20 minute jog, and there is much trepidation.
There be more stories, but I leave you with the one of the creepy pool guy. We were enjoying our local community pool a cuppa weeks ago. It’s a big pool with a very deep end, a diving board, dinky water slide, and several joyless lifeguards. The little kids and their attendant adults were in the shallow end, and the adventurous kids were doing daring dives into the deep, and we were in the middle playing catch with a frisbee ring. Between us and the deep end, lurking at the rope that marked the 6-to-12-foot point, was a young man in a swim mask. I say young, Tiff says he had grey hair. At any rate, he never took off the mask, was alone, and between occasional swims from side to side of the pool, he would spend great gulps of time underwater. Looking. Looking at my shapely, pasty, hairy legs for all I know. Trying to glimpse some bouyant bits perhaps. It gave us the serious jibblies, for he spent over an hour in this fashion. I contemplated flipping an underwater bird his way just to see what would happen, but I chickened out (get it?).
That’s all the news I have time for, because there’s miles of packing between me & sleep. Take care, talk amongst yourselves, and seeya in a week or so!
