She Is Looking At Me As If I Am

This morning, Pete and I slept in. This is code for "we kicked the cats out of our bedroom and played naked Parchesi," but don't tell anyone because having a secret language makes us cool. We are cool! So Pete and I slept in, then made breakfast, then fed the varmints, then we went grocery shopping. Stop & Shop recently opened another store in our 49 square mile hometown so the yuppies could have their own market, and good for them, since they can bite me. This means the Stop & Shop near our house, which is full of nothing, and the Stop & Shop where there used to be woods, which is full of yuppies - neither of those is full of us. We went to the one where the movie theater was when we were teenagers and oh thank Vishnu bad kids didn't burn that down.

All of which reminds me of sausage. I can't explain that.

Anyway, we bought some bottles of Terracycle Worm Poop besides the groceries and drove home on two wheels in time to get ready for work at the family stores. While I was waiting for Pete to find a shirt he wanted to wear to sell toys I skipped outside with a container of compost and found my neighbor contemplating a shovel and a relocated tree without a clear crime scene. You have not lived until you've dressed for work and spinning the composter, I'll just tell you that now. It's just a good thing I look great in minced orange rinds.

Somehow, I found a minute to pour Worm Poop on the blueberry bush, and, pardon you, I am not speaking in code. You didn't suppose I'd sink to fertilizer jokes, did you?