That ominous shadow above my left ankle? I am here to tell you that that is in fact NOT a stain. It is a shadow from when Jesse took the picture. He saw my post and didn't want you all to think we live like animals, what with knitting garments and leaking on the couch.
Last night Jesse and I drove around and came across this adorable park with lots of fake grass.
Awww, see the hand holding? Okay, what ethnicity are we? It's difficult, I know. But seriously, WHERE CAN I GET GRASS LIKE THIS. Do you have to maintain it? Maintain fake grass? I may not be interested anymore.
Me: "Look at all the geese! They all look so calm!"
Jesse: "You're kidding me, right?"
Jesse: "Those are all fake."
Me: "Go pretend to feed one."
Does someone in this photo think that someone in this photo is hilarious? Oh, but the guy playing golf didn't? THAT'S what all that fake grass was about? Sorry. Thanks for shooting a small hard golf ball towards me just because I was in your way.
This was my victory stance. I made Jesse take so many pictures of me doing this that I would feel it a waste if I didn't post one. Sorry.
When we got home from the park, we had one of those "married people" boring discussions in the car. You know the kind, the kind where "no, you started saying something important and if you don't finish it right now we'll never discuss it inside." Sometimes Jesse makes me act like an adult. What is up with him? But anyway, who got impatient with us?
And who still gets excited when the cat she's owned since she was 8 shows her attention? Who should stop talking in third person? Is this third person? Or is it just what the literary majors call not interesting?
Oh how I love Cinnamon's fuzzy butt. You know his butt hole never shows up in pictures? I know that's not something most people would appreciate, but I am not most people.
Suki's butt on the other hand? Not as modest.
Someone say Suki butt? Does this cat ever walk anywhere? It's like I pick her up and put her someplace new to go into a coma.
Oh, that's right! The father of twelvedaysold, more like, twentyonethousandninehundreddaysold (sorry, Dad) is celebrating his birthday today!
Happy birthday, Dad!
That's how he wants you to think he looks. When in reality, he looks like this: