I'm up late. TOOOOOO late. But you know that manic, crazy, evil-genius energy you get when you've been up late working/ creating? Okay, that I get when I've been up late working/ creating? Even if it's just writing the newsletter for the botanical garden? It's like I'm avoiding going to bed because then it will be a for-real thing that I'm up this late. I'm crazed! No rules! No bedtimes! No shit!
Here is what I want to say:
Birdy is rubbing off on me. I was just thinking about all of this madness with her (though she had a MUCH better afternoon today) when I realized I’ve pouted excessively AND thrown a tantrum in the last few days. Read on:
In any case, we no longer go to swanky Kroger because now that we’re on a budget and the Starbucks is off limits, the drive across town was deemed “total bullshit” by one husband o’mine, and let’s face it, he’s right, so we made up with Ghetto Kroger and we now shop locally. So the GK—surprise—has no butternut squash. I scooted some other squashes around in the display, nice and dramatic-like, and threw my hands up in the air—feh!—and said to A, through my clenched teeth, “THIS is why I say FUCK THIS KROGER.”* So then A. says, “uh, why don’t you ask the produce guy over there?” Which I did, to appease A, and look like a grownup, and further prove that the GK is shit-tay. And whaddaya know, the produce guy appears with a cart-effing-load of butternut squash.
*When I say I said it "through my teeth", I am serious when I tell you that A. was the only one who heard it, because I kind of seethed it out there. I did not yell "Fuck" in the Kroger. I have a crude vocabulary at times, but I am not a redneck.
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