I am just tired of seeing them. I am NOT tired of seeing his rear side in them. This picture is also of our red red couch. If you like it, your welcome to it. I need to find it a new home. I want to bring up my leather couch from the basement. (Florida basement is another story) The reason he is wearing jungle pants today is not that they help in stomach flu recovery but because my beloved man as sick as he was last night and today, got up, put on his pants and went outside and stain treated the wood out in the garage that he is using to build Diesel Boys bunk bed. Its a full size bottom and twin on top, just in case you wanted to know. So again if you want a free red couch, please come pick it up. I will even have Military man help you load it up.
So lets take a drastic change of subject and talk flowers. I love to garden. I love flowers and plants that I can water ( I can water and water and water, I love to hold the hose and water) There is something very therapeutic about holding a hose and watering a garden. I love to grow things we can eat. I love to grow things we can eat without using lots of chemicals or
SUCKER: that's what is written in invisible ink across my forehead. The car salesman can see it. The people in the garden center can see it, and the sales lady in any art store like Pearls or Michael's can read it a mile away as it flashes, SUCKER SUCKER SUCKER.
I can't see it, but I know its there as I hand them my debit card and wish and pray to have cucumbers growing in bountiful numbers in my garden and that paying for another new paintbrush will make the painting I am working on turn into an instant Picasso.
So here is dumb dog running to me finally looking for the mysterious cookie. I told Diesel Boy to give him the cookie. Instead of giving him the cookie, Diesel Boy ran around the house playing "come get me" and of course this is the only way any of us can get any attention from dumb dog, bribing him with cookies. I think in a former life Dumb dog was a cat.
Ok, this is Girl Smuck signing off.
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