| There can only be one explanation... |
| A giant breed of rat has migrated into the United States. Our worst nightmare came true when they moved into Red Bluff earlier this week. These are rats not to be trusted. Guard yourselves. The mess you see above is just a hint of what they are capable of. Extremely strong, they move heavy boxes of clothing, rooting around inside until they find whatever it is they're looking for. Bargains...I guess that's what they want. Pet peeve here~ I don't like looking at people's crap piles on my way to work. I want to see neatly manicured lawns and flowers. I am easily distracted and I don't need the visual disturbance while driving. The Salvation Army probably doesn't want it either. A while back, a friend asked to borrow my husband's pickup to take some shhhtuff to the Hospice Second Hand Store. Joe explained that the pickup was old and that the door was being temperamental. She was moving and had a full load in the back and beside her in the cab when she pulled up to the drop off place at the back of the store. Oh, did I mention that she was also very pregnant? Anyway, she said that the Hospice ladies were standing around, apparently on a break. After parking, she attempted to open the door but it was stuck. Feeling panicked at being trapped inside, she honked the horn at them to come and help. "The door won't open from the inside. Will you let me out?" She pleaded. They weren't listening to her; they were looking at the back of the truck, shaking their heads. "We don't want any of this. We don't need this kind of stuff." Appalled at the idea of driving away with all of it, she used persuasion. "There's good stuff at the bottom. Just let me out and I'll show you." In the end, they wouldn't take her stuff or let her out of the pickup. Joe had to take her crap to the dump while she sat in our house crying about being trapped inside the truck mid-summer without any AC. Oh, yeah, did I mention that she was also very pregnant? I guess it's traumatic when the second hand store doesn't want your junk. |
| Speaking of junk... Joe said something last week. I could have died. We were having dinner with another couple and the woman was talking about adding onto their bedroom. She was commenting that it was amazing how they needed more room in their home. Joe chimed in with what appeared to be an architectural musing. "Well, you really do need more space and I'll tell you why. I've given this a lot of thought and I've done the math. You and your husband are the only ones living in your five bedroom home. You have a dining room, family room, and exercise room. Mentally, I've done the measurements and figure that, given the square footage of the house, you've got too much crap, lady!" She looked a little stunned, then, thankfully, chose to ignore his little dialogue. Most of our friends know they should take him with a grain of salt. The others encourage him. He does that kind of thing to me all the time. I can't say anything without getting some unsolicited comment. For instance, I mentioned to him, "Oh, look, there's a rummage sale at the Catholic Church." "Oh, good!" he said gleefully, rubbing his hands together. "I love rummaging Catholics!" Catholics, beware. I never quite know when he's serious. Next week, I am going to bring up a hot topic. I rarely write on issues that are controversial, but this is of such great import that I need to make my thoughts known. So, next week, I will be writing about the proper pronunciation of the word almond...that's alllllllllllmond. It was recently written of in the Daily News by the Word Merchant in an article that had my husband in joyous rapture at having found a supporter. He saved the writing, tucking it away inside the dictionary to throw at me during our next go-around. (We've fought over this word for the past 17 years.) Read next week...I think you'll side with me. |
