Today begins one of my favorite weeks of the year. Why, you ask? Well, there are a variety of reasons. Such as:
1. It’s a short work week. Sure, most people are *supposed* to work through Wednesday, but a lot of people don’t. In fact, you start to get that playing hooky-town’s-emptying-out feeling here on Tuesday or so, which means you really only have about a day and a half of of a normal week. I LOVE that.
2. It’s a week that leads up to an eating holiday, my very favorite kind. Christmas is stressful, but Thanksgiving is about family and food. And what’s my favorite food? Mashed potatoes. And this is a mashed potato holiday .
3. This week also signifies the beginning of the shopping season. Now, I like to shop year-round, but starting this week I have the excuse of saying that I’m going to buy for others, that it’s imperative that I go to the mall, even if it’s not *exactly* true. I’m all for denial when it comes to spending money.
4. I don’t have to go anywhere. In fact, we never go anywhere for the holidays, because convienently, most of our family is here. Which means that come Wednesday (the busiest travel day of the year) when the six o’clock news is showing the highways packed with cars, and the airport a madhouse, I can be found on my couch with my pimento cheese and glass of wine, toasting the fact that I was always too lazy to move out of my hometown. Bliss.
5. Mashed potatoes. Worth mentioning twice. Truly.
In other news, a mouse update. I know you’ve been waiting for one!
So Saturday night, I have a little dinner party thing for my husband’s birthday. Everyone’s having fun, a great time, and I’m sitting with some people on the couch chatting when I hear this commotion in the kitchen. It’s not a big commotion, more of the muffled sort. But something is definitely happening. My dogs jump up and run into the kitchen, then stand and bark at the drawer beneath the stove—you know, where the broiler sometimes is, but ours is just a place to store pots. And then it hits me: that’s where my husband put the traps. And now, in the midst of the party, a mouse has been caught (horrible) but is not dead (even more horrible) and something must be done. All I can think is that Martha Stewart would NEVER allow this to happen at one of her parties.
Long story short, I have to go out on the porch and summon my husband away from a conversation, so that he can extract trap and mouse from the drawer (in full view of our guests, who think this is hysterical) and dispose of it out in the yard. The mouse scampers off, deformed, and the party goes on. Good God.
You can see why I need a short week. Sheesh!
have a good day everyone!!!!