|
The first thing I do when I get home, is answer my phone, because one of my contractors is telling me he needs to show me something on site.
An hour later, I get home again, this time dusted in dirt and/or sewage from the site. I open my car door, get out, and as I'm closing it, I whang my knee. I limp, almost tripping over a pumpkin vine i've named Napoleon because it's killing everything else in my yard, and I silently wish Godspeed to my cayenne peppers, which have been getting rained out lately, and have been valiantly fighting off the pumpkin armada.
As I approach the front door, I repeatedly pray that the dog hasn't pinched one out because of my detour earlier, and I open the door and stand aside.
Immediately a flying dog launches through the air, and lands on the grass in a squatted position. I turn away, as I respect the dog's dignity, and it saunters back into the house, wondering who owns who as I stoop and scoop.
Into the house, and I make a traditional French omelette (10 steps!!) with chives from outside. I do this, because all I can really afford for the next 2 weeks is eggs and campbell's soup.
What follows is usually blurred by alcohol.
|