The Blue False Indigo is blooming. It’s smaller this year than in previous years. I’m not sure what that is all about. Perhaps, it was shocked to its roots by our season of winter, which no longer exists. See below.
And the rain raineth…
That was our weekend.
And the temps dropped from 80 to 50 Fahren. Okay, 46. But you didn’t hear that from me.
I’m proclaiming one season in my neck of Canadaland. The…
There is no winter, spring, summer or fall.
And don’t even bother to call.
If we can have National Donut Day and National Bacon Day and National Training Wheel Day — I made that last one up, but it could be true! — I can proclaim…
Moving right along.
True Confessions ~
Everything I did yesterday I did in my jammies. Layered jammies.
I don’t know what my Monday night Twitter is going to look like now that Master Chef Canada is over. Wait! Monday night Twitter now moves to Wednesday night Twitter and Master Chef (USA). I like to watch people cook under stress.
I’ve noticed something about the G-Man. A teeny, tiny flaw. He is selectively not good with remembering names. I say selectively because when I’m dressed and looking fine and out at a G-Man event, he’ll say, “Sorry, I didn’t introduce you to Mr. X. I simply couldn’t remember his name.” But when we’re out walking the G-Pup in the neighborhood and my crazy hair is stuffed underneath a cap and I’m wearing my extra comfy yoga pants and some old waders and a garden-smudged tee and he’s just handed-off two bags of steaming G-Pup poop to me, he’ll see a guy on a porch and rush me over and say, “Let me introduce you to Mr. X, who serves on the policy committee with me.”
And I smile weakly while I shuffle two bags of steaming G-Pup poop behind my back with one hand and wonder whether or not to do a fist bump with the other. Too speechless to speak.
You can’t have him, ladies.
He’s all mine.
And Monday’s in the house.
Work Monday like you’ve never worked it before.