|Pick up yer feet, ye barstards!
||[Sep. 24th, 2007|03:51 pm]
So, Saturday we had the haze of humidity. Sunday the haze of 20,000 tourists dragging their be-croc'ed and be-teva'd and be-niked feet through the dust and mulch. |
BARF had won my most-lethal-atmosphere-to-an-asthmatic award until now, and probably still has it, since there's a particular...poisonous, treated mulch aroma in the little mushroom clouds that arise everytime someone takes a step. But in terms of sheer volume, this past Sunday at Maryland has surged ahead.
On the positive side, by saving all of our Kleenex from last night, we can just put them out in the garden and I can cross off "pick up one more bag of mulch from the Despot" from my list of things to do.
Bone-tired and exhausted -- extra pirates, extra pyrates, and even a spot of child-care duty -- poor Finn, he took one look at me and my shriveled ovaries, thankfully took pity on me and was good as gold -- and once again, not enough sense to go to bed early on Friday...Today is all about what I need to endure until I can crawl back into bed.