Anyway, you might surmise that the scarf was in my closet all along and I just didn't see it, but you would be dead wrong. The scarf was not in the closet. It disappeared and then it came back. I don't know why, and I don't especially care. My friend Sarah thinks I earned some karma points after the poker chips yesterday and the spaghetti mess this morning. See, I dropped a giant steaming plate of pasta and sauce as I was heating up leftovers for breakfast. It landed all over the microwave, the stove, the floor and me. The clean-up was pretty daunting; I was thinking of just moving out. To a clothing-free community. So maybe she's right, because that WAS pretty bad and definitely deserving of some redistribution of spiritual wealth.
The scarf is back, and that's good, but I like to plan ahead a little. Just a little, mind you, mostly I'm a flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. At least until my pants rip and I crash and burn in a bloody heap, but that almost never happens. Right now, though, I'm thinking I should stock up on scarves so I always have a couple of spares for the next time the universe gets all smart with me. This one came from Qatar, so if you know someone at The Deid that wants to go can tolerate scarf shopping for me, let me know!
And on an unrelated note, I have a minor correction and also a comment about yesterday's post. I have been informed that what I described as a hole to China in the lawn is actually a hole to Africa. Presumably it makes a sharp turn down there somewhere, perhaps around the Mohorovicic Discontinuity. And finally, I feel I was unfairly accused of whining in the comments, when in fact I was not whining at all, but merely stating facts.
That's all, my friends; catch you next week! If you have time, check out Doraville for some new entries from my mother's book. My beloved Helen has been working like crazy posting them; isn't she the best?!?!?!!? Of course, if you know Helen, you already know that. But a reminder doesn't hurt- love you, Helen!
1 comment:
Scarf story sounds like something from Edgar Allan Poe. maybe you've been pranked big time
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