As one might imagine, this weather is the perfect backdrop for all kinds of outside calamities. And one wouldn’t be disappointed….
Twice in the past two days, I have found myself outside, in the cold and rain, chasing or herding a rogue horse. All in my work clothes, mind you. If there’s one thing you don’t want to be wearing as you chase somebody else’s horse around in the deep mud, it’s your work clothes.
Target flats don’t really have the traction for that.
You might be wondering why in the world I didn’t change out of my work clothes first. And that would be a really valid question. One of the times, I was on my way to work, and no way was I going to go inside, change, chase the towering wench down the driveway, and then go back inside and change again. I was already running late, obviously. My story was way more credible with wet shoes, frizzy hair, and mud spots, anyway.
The evening before that, it was more of a “hurry up” situation. I did stop halfway through and switch into mud boots and a jacket, but it didn’t seem to help me very much. I still couldn’t pen her.
Quite naturally, B wasn’t home while this was happening. Stuff like this only happens when he’s at the station. Same with the baby getting sick: that also only happens when he’s at the station.
Universe, what are you trying to do to me?
To keep myself from cursing the fire schedule, the horse, the weather, the fact that we’re even doing this breeding thing and keeping other horses in the first place, and the current political state of North Korea, I just kept picturing B in a white button-down, telling me thank-you and how much he appreciates me sloshing through quicksand in his absence.
That worked for a while. Right up until the mare ran by me so fast and so close that mud splatters landed on my cheek.
The cheek my baby touches.
The one that I slather sunscreen and blush on everyday.
I can’t even let myself think about what all was mixed into that mud. Suffice it to say, just him in the white shirt was no longer doing it.
The hula hoop helped.
But only just a little.
I’d reveal how she got out in the first place, but I don’t wanna throw B under the bus with the details of how he accidentally left a barn door ajar.
Oops. Too late.
We had a really good time at Dan and Candy’s Hawaiian-themed couples’ shower three months and eight years ago. I brought my own Sonic vanilla Coke. Because hello. Sonic? Crushed ice? Don’t mind if I do….
That, and I didn’t have to worry about anyone asking if I wanted some Hawaiian punch or a glass of lemonade. Gagging at a party is not attractive. Much like walking around with mud on your face.