Dear Folks,
Yesterday
we spent the day at my-dead-grandma-who-isn't-really-dead's house, while Dad fixed the plumbing. That
meant spending the entire day without running water. I've been through
this sort of thing before, but it was rather miserable, and I can't
really recommend the experience.
It
is a truth universally acknowledged that you inevitably eat the
messiest meal when there isn't any running water. We had barbecued
venison ribs. A delightful meal, but not a clean one. There were a lot of sticky dishes after we were done eating, an no water to wash them with. So they just sat on the counter and were frightfully in the way
Anyone
who knows me knows that I absolutely despise doing dishes with every
single fiber of my being. Every single one. But, being without water has
reminded me that, despite the raging hatred I feel towards this one
particular chore, it's really much better to do the dishes and be done
with them than to let them sit around on your counter getting your way. Who would have thought I'd learn a life lesson from this trying
experience? I shall take this newfound knowledge and apply it to my
life henceforth. (When I told my Excellent Mother of this she nearly fainted.)
Supposedly
dishes are supposed to be therapeutic. I have never yet found it to be
so, but perhaps if I try them out with my newfound enlightenment fresh
in mind will be a different story? They say there is something almost
spiritual about how things go into the water and come out clean and
pure. (I've heard dishes being compared to baptism once or twice. I
think it's stuff and nonsense, to be sure, but then, the parallels are
there, I suppose.)
If
I still find dishes to be as tortuous as ever I shall remember my day
at Grandmama's house and bear my suffering in silence, as a truly
saintly martyr and when I am dead of overwork and allergic reactions to
cheep dish soap they shall write poems about my steadfastness and
dedication. It will all be dreadfully touching, you know, and they shall
water the roses that are planted on my grave with dishwater in
remembrance.
In
other news: I had a bad reaction to the barbecue sauce we used on our venison ribs, and now I have a rash at the right corner of my mouth about the
size of a half-dollar, and after looking it up, they say I'll be lucky
to see it fade in under two weeks, and it's likely to last up to four
weeks. That was a bit of a kick in the gut. It's the Christmas season,
and the height of picture taking season. Fa la la la la, la la, la, la
and all that.
P.S. Merry Christmas, y'all!
