Friday, February 8, 2013
It's cool (32˚F) and cloudy here, damp from a bit of rain during the night—a good afternoon for a warm fire, moody background music, and settling in with a cup of tea and a good book. Alas, though this is Myladylove's day off, she's scheduled to go help man—or in her case, woman—the company's booth at a large local "home show" from 4-8 p.m.
Alas, deux…my sweet lovely, with possible malice aforethought, procured me a ticket that I might share in the joy of spending four hours in a sprawling convention center amongst the home-improvement masses.
Misery loves company.
I'm usually good for about an hour of schlumping around on my own up and down the isles, checking out pools and hot tubs, lawn mowers, cable suppliers, roofs, gutter systems, garage doors, water softeners, and paving blocks before I go in search of the sorrowful band of fellow miserables—huddled masses yearning to breathe free! Husbands, boyfriends, and androgyne individuals who've accompanied—willingly or under duress—their significant others to the show and have, like me, reached their gag limit and are now simply looking to survive. Such a glum congregation can always be located somewhere about (the food court is a good place to start, unless it's full of screaming kids) and a fellow refugee will find easy welcome among their ranks.
So what has all this got to do with the photo of missus pileated? Not a blooming thing! I just made the shot a few minutes ago and wanted—before I go off and do what a man must occasionally do…whine, whine, whine—to share the image.