While I do believe that she who dies with a clean house has lived a wasted life, there are limits. So I swept up a whole bunch of dog hair, did a couple loads of laundry and changed the bed. Nothing better than a nice clean bed, unless someone else did the changing. Then I found my carwashing bucket and headed out to the driveway to give Jolie her first bath of the new year. And I noticed those little scrapes on the right back bumper had multiplied and there were now some on the left back bumper, too. Not my fault! I didn't do those. Some anonymous person with similar deficiencies in backing up did these new ones. So I headed out to the auto supply store for some touchup paint. Hey, I know about this stuff!. Strange thing happens when I enter Kragan's Auto Supply. My IQ drops about 50%. Must be all that free-floating testosterone. Happy to report I found the paint, read the manual hanging there, and selected the right color for my little puddlejumper. Hard to go wrong, since it's black. Well, you'd think so, but all these cars are painted by men, who have not yet grasped the concept of standardization. How many shades of black can there be, anyway! Ran into one of most macho male friends in line to pay for my little tube, and could not bluff my way out of my presence there, which occasioned painful memory of backing into a friend's car last year, causing the current need for touch-up. Sigh. Because I was such a good girl (I even deadheaded the hydrangea and trimmed all the privet that has grown to scary heights since last summer), I continued on to Safeway, where I got myself a nice steak for dindin. And it was scrumptious. Now headed for my lavender scented bed for the next installment of The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest. Ah, life is good with a belly full of black angus and a rip-roaring mystery novel.
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