Every now and then I wax nostalgic, Reader. Well, I’m not sure “nostalgic” is the right term, but something is getting waxed and it isn’t my floors. Ba-dum-dump-chsh!
That’s the sound of my drum set, in case you couldn’t figure that out, Reader. I don’t wanna stress you this early in the morning with hard-to-make-out typing….stop judging! I know it’s not EARLY morning, it’s already closer to noon than “early morning” but in our pretend world where I play the drums, it’s also very early morning. So early, I fed the squirrels breakfast outside today to help them start the day off right.
I actually DID feed the squirrels a breakfast of vanilla wafer cookies, peanut M&M’s and some actual nuts from My Misters nut mix from Costco. Because I saw a really cute thing on Facebook or the news – somewhere where I get all life’s important updates – where a family was leaving out snacks on their porch for random hobos walking by, and then they got upset when all their chocolates were gone – the very chocolates they were leaving out for someone to take! – and so they sleuthed it and discovered it was a squirrel coming up for a Hershey’s with Almonds nugget and then they were MAD and put a lid on the candy, which is frankly RUDE because they had a BASKET OF SNACKS on their PORCH for someone to take! So they are basically very discriminatory and probably voted for Trump. Ba-dum-dump-chsh!
See what I did there, I made a non-political story political! and also Trump hates nature, which he’s proven over and over again, so troof.
But anyway, back to the squirrel story – the part where they tried to shut the squirrel out of the snack jar wasn’t the cute part of the story – that’s actually the VERY MEAN part of the story – but the part of the story where the squirrel wanted a daily chocolate was cute to me, and now I want to have a Daily Squirrel that comes for a snack that I leave on the porch.
So I started with cookies, candies and nuts. But p.s., some of my boy cats are out there lurking around and so the squirrel is going to have to wait to get his snackie, or he will end up a snackie. I would be worried for the safety of the squirrel, however my cats aren’t exactly the fleetest of feet, their girth slows them down, plus they have very limited tree climbing skillz. They can make it knee-high up the trunk at best. The squirrel clearly has the advantage.
Speaking of girthy cats, due to my unexpected plumbing event yesterday, when the plumbing guy was on his way out he saw Nosey wobbling down to the basement and couldn’t help from exclaiming, “Wow! That is one fat cat!” and then Nosey was fat-shamed and his mama didn’t defend him.
He’s going to need therapy. And also his mama (aka, ME) needs to bathe him now, because the plumber wasn’t wrong at all, Nosey is my 600-lb-life cat version, and I’ve been having to wash his back for him because he just can’t reach it any longer and it was not feeling like good cat hair. It was feeling the opposite of nice, and also dirty and gritty. He hates it when I tend to him with warm cloth baths and brushing, but like a good Mama Cat, I do it anyway.
Poor Nosey. But he’s finally starting to look & feel a little bit better.
Sheew, that was a long way to get a story started, but nothing compared to the recap of a movie I watched the other evening, that I relayed ad nauseam to MM last night while I was making a rustic pear tart for our after-supper dessert, wherein by the end of the story he was dizzy and parched and he wasn’t even the one doing all that talking.
PS, during the creating of the rustic pear tart, My Mister leaned on the counter and looked at me and said, ‘Oh, by the way, something you should probably know, the next time you think about buying or making anything with pears, know that I HATE pears. I HATE pear everything. Just so you know.”
The 12-year relationship reveal came AS I WAS MAKING A HOMEMADE PEAR TART.
PPS – My Mister went to check on it as it was cooking, and quickly proclaimed this was the worst looking dessert item he’d ever seen. Funnily enough, I had said when I put it together, “I think this is going to leak out,” and he – being the amazing chef that he is – proclaimed, ‘It’s not going to leak!” I gave him the ‘u crazy’ look because I KNEW it would but by the time it was on the baking sheet it couldn’t be moved.
PPPS, once the tart came out of the oven, My Pear-Hating-Mister was the first to pull out the carton of cool whip and shove a great big slice of this into his tart-hole and proclaimed it delish. Because it was. So he needed to eat his words, along with that slice of rustic pear tart.
Well, Reader. Here we are at 889 & counting words, and I just read an article that said posts shouldn’t be more than 500 words. So I guess this is where I leave you? And you don’t get to hear what nostalgia was getting waxed. Sorry. I don’t make the blogging rules. Well, I guess I do in fact make them for this’chere nonsense, but I can feel you getting weary, and the nostalgia story is too good to start when you’re already tired. At least it’s good in my head. Maybe it’ll be less good when it makes it to here.
Time will tell.
We’ll try again laters, baby.
983 words…now 985…drat. Consider this double the fun of the “ideal” post size. You’re welcome.