It's not about the house.

Wednesday, August 1, 2007

While The Bits Drain In The Colander...

Oh, hell, the colander's not twenty years old. Or I don't think it is -- or honestly that much care. At least I remembered to grab something before dumping all those brass screws down the sink...

So I got hung up at one work and hung up at the other work and by the time I'm on my way home I realize that if I'm gonna make it home first to get the shoot out of the crock pot before I go pick up Johnny, I don't have time to stop at the grocery store like I had planned.

I run over my grocery list in my mind. What did I need? Is it important? Lettuce -- eh, no salad tonight. Stuff for Work Lady #1 -- can wait until tomorrow. Earplugs for this weekend (we're going away and so I have to actually sleep with Snorey here) -- I can get them tomorrow. Batteries for the digital camera -- the bleaders will live ("bleaders" = blog readers -- I stole it from Julie Powell).

So fine, no grocery store. Get home, clean crock pot, maybe clean hinges, pick up Johnny, grocery shop tomorrow.

But when I get home there's a message on the machine:

"Hey, Horse, it's Johnny. I'm here already. So when you get home, pick me up. It's 3:30."

It's 4:45.


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