Just noticed that the lower my kitchen supplies dwindle, the more recipes I churn out. Hm. Huh. I really do much better under pressure.
I'm clear on this: Living in The Sticks has afforded me many opportunities to observe both emotional and physical discomfort. Part of my practice I can *never* get enough of...
Finally. Enough surplus cash to buy nail polish remover = my toes look normal again. Good thing. That was a lotta fun, but if Nature intended me to have Rose Gold toenails, there'd be a litte pedicurist living at the foot of my bed, waiting eagerly for each evening so she could pamper and paint my pretty little piggies. And Nature ain't that kinda girl.
Ahhh, Small Town Bank. Your Head Teller shouting "Will that be two 20's and a 10, Tracy?" obviously hasn't read all of the many postings about identity theft and personal security at the other end of the lobby. Even though her voice projects all the way over there.
And there goes the freakin' neighborhood...
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