Sixty-something woman shares ruminations as she plys the latter third of her life with the caveat that age entitles her to be absolutely outrageous whenever possible.
Monday, July 16, 2012
I don't know about you, but sudden changes in the climate kind of throw me. Today, it was all drizzly. I slept in. And got up to big muddy prints all over the kitchen floor. I mopped. And now, need to do it again, despite deployment of strategic towels on the canine path of least resistance. So, I pondered this rather frustrating epic I am determined to execute, endeavoring to make them look less than a parade to the glue factory. Believe me, it is mucho better than it once was. Funny, but taking a photo and looking at it on my monitor here gives me hope, again. Must never say die, you know. And now, back to the mop brigade. Makes me want to attach little booties to Punk's admittedly overly-large paws. Or I could just put his fuzz-ball little self on my Swiffer duster? At least I removed the dog stairway, so no laundering of bedding will be required. Ah, the life of a dog lover. Messy love.