Thoughts from the end of the day (for my amusement).

There are far more important things for me to be doing right now, I can assure you, which is why I am writing you these silly thoughts. Please don’t assume any deeper meaning in my stories than that they amused me, for they did (do).

Story 1:

You know how it goes, that loose screw finally falls out of the door fixture. There are two kinds of screws: the ones you want to find (and put back in their hole) but can not find, verses the ones you don’t want to find (but find in the sole of your shoe).  This was neither.  I had been asking for my beloved to tighten all the screws in the door knobs and (since we have old doors and locks) fixtures around them, but this one had not been tightened, allowing it to fall to the ground. Maybe in your house, a dropped screw would not cause such consternation, but among the running feet, sticky hands, feisty paws, and clunky boots that course through my home every day, a dropped screw is a lost screw.

So, it was with great pleasure that while I sat there quietly pondering the day gone, that I saw it, laying there, silently on the floor, waiting to be picked up and replaced in it’s little home on the door. While I didn’t have a screw driver handy, a little twisting of my finger tips, and the application (oh so gently) of a finger nail had it safely in place in the twinkling of an eye.

Possibly tomorrow I will come back to it with the proper equipment (and some finger nail polish for glue) to set it more permanently. And, also possibly, I can convince the four small people who live here to stop slamming that poor door a dozen times each a day.


Story 2:

(This is less appropriate but I still found it amusing. You’ve been warned.)

There is nothing quite like the end of the day, when you finally get to sit in quiet, removing your pants while in pursuit of more relaxing pants (Mama says leggings aren’t pants, but for the purpose of comfort before bed, they do sufficiently) to finish out the evening in, when to your forlorn, you hear the distinct sound of your dog starting to vomit.

With quickness and speed you yell “Outside!” to the dog while pacing her to the door, swinging it wide and joining her as she goes out to do the dastardly deed out in the grass, rather than on your dining room floor. It is as this moment, while you stand there on your front porch, supervising your dog’s hacking, gagging, returning of some gluten item she accidentally found on the floor (yes, she’s allergic to gluten, and no, the children don’t listen to me about being clean and picking up everything they drop) that you find yourself thankful that you had only removed your pants, and you are abundantly hopeful that your neighbors aren’t looking out their windows towards your brightly lit front porch at this moment.

“Hello neighbors!”


The farewell:

This is sadly all that I have to write, for it is late and I still have things that actually need doing, to do. If you read this far, thank you. If you have not, well, then you are not reading now and I am talking to myself, again.  Dang it.





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