Only Boring People Get Bored

Some days pass in my life that would absolutely rivet you to the seat in front of your computer, if you were to read all about it. Today is one of those days.

I got up.

I had a shower.

I blow-dried my hair.

I blow-dried Cat 1, but only because she tried to bite my bare foot while I had the Vidal Sassoon dryer aimed at my own wet mop. Cat 1 does not like the blow dryer, so this is a fantastic form of punishment when she tries to gnaw off people’s appendages.

I brushed my teeth.

I threw on some make-up, lathering my eyes with mascara, which Hubs can never remember the name of, so he calls it “tar for your eyelashes.”

Riveting so far, isn’t it?

People, it’s all I have tonight.

After the early morning routine was finished, and Cat 1 was fluffed and my eyelashes were sufficiently dark enough to face the public sector, I picked up Amy, and we solved all of the world’s problems over a grande skinny hazelnut latte and a grande no-water, non-fat chai latte. We decided that if she ran for County Commissioner and I ran for Mayor, Small Town, USA would be a problem-free territory, and Starbucks’ bank account would be full of our dollars.

After coffee, I came home and washed the boy’s bedding.

And I had lunch with Hubs.

And I picked my kid up from his fly fishing camp.

And I listened to him rave about how this is the most! fantastic! camp! of all time! and how he almost! caught! a fish! today.

And then we had some quiet time at home, that boy and I. He read a book. I read a book. I had to keep looking up from my book though to say, “Read! You’re not going outside to play with the cute neighbor boy until you’ve read for forty-five minutes!”

When the boy was finally released from the dreaded prison of summer reading and had zipped off to find that cute neighbor kid of ours, I got (for reasons still unknown to me) a hair-brained idea and decided to make these fancy enchiladas for dinner.

Enchiladas with a homemade sauce. Enchiladas that required adding flour to hot, melted butter to thicken it and make enchilada gravy. Enchiladas which consumed a great amount of my time.

It goes without saying that my kitchen looked like thieves had broken in to search for diamonds in my cupboards, and they had simply thrown everything out and onto the counters. And also, those crazy thieves who turned my kitchen upside down looking for jewels spilled enchilada gravy all over the cooktop.

And then there was the baking of the enchiladas and the eating of the enchiladas, and Hubs proclaimed them to be one of his all-time favorite dinners. (I didn’t tell him that I put two cups of Velveeta in the gravy, just for him.)

Oh, Hubs. I jest.

It was only one cup.

It goes without saying that since the man is still alive, the enchiladas with the homemade gravy were Velveeta-free. Velveeta will kill Hubs, on the spot.

And then (AND THEN!) Hubs and I mowed the lawn. Or rather, I mowed the lawn, while Hubs did the weed-eating, because the weed-eater and I have some issues with one another.

Namely, motion sickness.

Don’t judge me.

And then I remembered that I’d started the morning out by washing all of the boy’s bedding, which was still in the dryer, so I had the pleasure of making the boy’s bed at 8:00 tonight.

And now (NOW, PEOPLE!), I’m going to call it a night and put this blog to bed…

See?

My life isn’t all about chaos and craziness. Sometimes it’s simply and perfectly boring.

Except that my darling friend, Henley, used to say, “Only boring people get bored.”

Can I get an “Amen” here?

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