My cousin’s wife posted this on her Facebook page earlier this week.
I stole it.
Normally, I don’t steal things, because I’m dreadfully afraid of sitting in an eight-by-eight cell with bars and having to eat questionable Hamburger Helper slop for dinner. But then I figured, “You know what? I think she stole this from somewhere, too.”
Basically, I’m stealing from a stealer.
We like to keep it real around here.
Those are my three styles. And, I’m sad to say, I’ve actually been going with Option Three more and more lately. I think all that I need now is a cardboard sign that says, “Will work for food, unless the work is outside, because I don’t like snakes and bugs. Also, my baby naps from noon to 2:30, so I have to be very quiet then and just read a book while I drink my Starbucks chai.”
And… boy howdy! Did we do some work outside today. It’s because my hair isn’t the only thing that was looking homeless around here. Our rock gardens were so full of weeds and grass and vegetation, our house was starting to look abandoned. Or foreclosed upon. Or whatever. All we needed were some sheets of plywood over the windows to complete the look.
And so I wore my homeless hairstyle today, and I worked on my weeds. Hubs’ sister came over to help, because she’s sick in her head and enjoys weeding. She said today, “Weeding is like a little war, and I know that I’m going to win against the weeds, because I have thumbs.” Someone should cross-stitch that onto a little pillow.
So… with our thumbs… and all of our other fingers… we went to work.
For five entire hours.
(Five!!! Hours!!! Of weeding!!!)
And I still don’t like bugs and snakes.
I’d type more, but I have a giant blister on my right index finger that has burst open, exposing raw skin to the elements, and… well… it hurts. Like… it hurts when I type. And it hurts when I fold laundry. And my back muscles feel like maybe a mean little monkey threw rocks at me. So, you know, I’m basically a wreck.
Y’all have a merry Wednesday evening.