The Itchy and Scratchy Ultimatum

First, the definition of grubstake (one word) is food and equipment furnished to a prospector on condition of participating in the profits from mining. We all learned something today. In my head I like to think of it as Grub Steak.

What a welcome home. I woke up in the night to the sound of rain. Not like a refreshing summer shower but like dismal never-ending drip. I also woke up with that faint feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach like the feeling I would get right before school started in the fall. Remember that feeling when you got older so you weren’t necessarily terrified, but there was a little nervousness about the first day of school?

Even my psyche recognizes when summer is over.

After my shower I had the opportunity to inspect the damage from the mosquitoes and poison oak. Boy howdee. Usually I get bitten on my feet so I always sprayed them in the evening. This time I got bites in all sorts of weird places. I must have whipped a branch of poison oak against my arm because I have a thin line of it from my wrist and twisting around part of my forearm. Not too bad, really. But itchy.

My bangs had last week off and were free to do this thing where they split in the middle and curl around so it’s like I have a mustache on my forehead. This morning they weren’t pleased when I tried to curl them in a graceful fan and instead stuck straight out like a big brown comb.

Then there was a traffic accident and it took a half hour just to get to Delta Park. I was all worked up by the time I got to my desk but now I’ve had my tea and sorted through the mail and I’m ready for my day.

One last story before I run. Yesterday in the car my dear husband was kind enough to drive the whole way while I napped and stared at the scenery and counted car accidents. (One on our side, one on the other side plus on our side: a ginormous tanker thing in a ditch with haz teams and all sorts of excitement).

Bob had loaded up the CD player with a variety of stuff including things I would like. Somewhere around Grants Pass this one CD came on and I didn’t like it very much. I listened to about three songs and finally asked, “Who is this?”

“It’s Benny Sings. Why? Is it bugging you?”

Since he was nice enough to do all the driving and since I wanted him to enjoy the music he liked, I said, “No, it’s fine. Let’s keep listening to it.” (Who says “Let’s keep listening to it?” – that should have been a clue that I hated it.)

An hour later, it went to track 15. We were STILL listening to this thing and I said, “I’ve had enough of this. This is awful. I would never have said it was fine before if I knew how long it would go on.”

Bob laughed and said there were 22 tracks. Then we listened to The Frames.

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