I saw a squirrel today. Normally it wouldn’t be a big thing, but when you come from a place that is a squirrel mecca to a place that doesn’t have squirrels, well, you tend to get a bit excited over things. It was an odd looking squirrel, not the cute, fat, caramel colored squirrels we have back in Wyoming. This one was almost black and had big tufts of hair standing up over its ears. Punk rock squirrel, I guess?
The Bigger Captor was feeling froggy today and told me after I got out of the shower he would french braid my hair for me. He used to have to do it for his sisters, so he told me he was a champ. Then he proceeded and kept saying “crap,” or “I’ve forgotten how to do this.” He gave it a few attempts, and in the end was successful in getting most of the hair into the braid. It looked good . . . if I was going for that KE$HA look. All I needed was some torn tights and glitter. I’d make this place look
bangin’ probably as trashy as KE$HA looks most days. (KE$HA, I totally listen to your music sometimes; no hate here.) It was nice to have him play with my hair though. I’d purr like a kitten, but that would probably freak the roommate out.
In other news, “lunch” today looked like this:
Soilent green, folks, soilent green. – They tried to tell me it was creamed spinach. Which might have been believable except the odd squishy chunks of something in it. Come to think of it, I haven’t seen that old lady walking around in a day or so . . .
I am making my escape here shortly, to go back to my own bed and ride it out a few more days. They think it could be a disc problem, but because of the earliness in the pregnancy, I can’t do an MRI yet and X-rays are out of the question. No reason to hang out here eating lord-knows-what and playing how-many-times-will-the-roommate-roll-over-in-bed at night anymore.
SO . . . good thing the trampoline has already been taken down for the winter. I can’t try to readjust myself at home. They tell me I can’t pick up the Tiniest Tolin anymore. Which is crap, and likely not to happen. However, this is my free (read: not-so-free) doctor’s note to my husband that now he has to vacuum and mop. I have a legitimate pain in my tushy–not just a metaphorical one. So he’ll either have to help or hire a house keeper. Which will happen first?
Leave your guess in the comments below! Out of those who comment, a random winner will be chosen. You’ll receive an autographed photo of either: (a) the Bigger Captor mopping, or (b) the house keeper.