Tales of a Meh Girl

In fiction, you always read that the heroine smells of "lavender and chamomile" or the hero tastes like "chocolate and mint".

Just once, I'd like to read a romance that is realistic.

"They kissed passionately, until the sounds of her gagging broke them apart. Pushing him away, she gasped.

'What did you eat for lunch?" the lady demanded as she held him at arm's length.

The strapping, handsome peasant boy frowned. 'My favorite,' he said. 'Tuna, garlic, and onion sandwiches.'

She subsequently married the rich duke her aunt picked out for her who subsisted solely on mint leaves, parsley, and gin and tonics with too much vermouth."

Just once.

I woke up at a leisurely 2:00 this afternoon, yawned, stretched, made muffins, hereby referred to as The Most Amazing Muffins Ever. I also made pumpkin spice bread and in the midst of my mixing, I discovered something queer.

The water wouldn't work.

I turned it off and on about twenty times in the manner of someone who is faced with something unexplainable and not mechanically inclined enough to figure out the problem. With a sudden burst of insight, my eyes narrowed. I bet the cows have something to do with this.

Our cows, affectionately called "those little bitches" by my father, and our bull, Howard, think it great fun to find the water line and destroy it in some convoluted, nefarious plot. They are probably quietly gathering as I type, crying out, "The Cows shall rise again!" and inciting revolution. No doubt their scheme involves taking the water hostage and demanding unlimited quantities of hay and feed.

So for now, I am silently contemplating the virtues of beer versus pico de gallo juice.

Or, as I prefer to call my new drink, Cerveza de Gallo.*




*That's Beer of the Rooster, for those not in the know.