You ever have your whole morning go completely to hell before your eyes are even open? Yes, of course Zoe was involved.
She apparently found the “mouse in the bed” thing convenient and entertaining. I had slept well, I’ll try to find solace in that, and it wasn’t cold because once again I left the oven on low. And I was still sleeping soundly when Zoe landed on the bed and started batting wildly around like Click had doused her in kerosene and torched her – which is an idea I shouldn’t find quite so compelling.
Resigned, I blinked up at the window: Small amounts of light on the horizon. Maybe six. Groped for my glasses and turned on the light: Yup, kangaroo rat. I shooed them both off the bed with difficulty, as Zoe saw no reason why she should leave.
When the light came on, the dogs down below immediately began their “come save us” routine. Sighed heavily, got vertical, groped for my last clean stump sock. Should have snuck out to the laundromat last night. Put on my leg, pulled on my pants…
That Taurus .44 is working out pretty well since the mainspring replacement. But I haven’t been able to find a decent holster locally, and online the only affordable holster is a Fobus paddle and I hate those. So I’m still using this no-name bag’o’nylon whose retention snap tends to become not snapped at odd moments. Like when I’m pulling up my pants. Which dumps the Taurus directly on my not-yet-booted toe. Which is, like, ouch.
Finished getting dressed, laboriously stuffed the Taurus back into the nylon bag masquerading as a holster, struggled down the ladder. Dealt with numerous lists of demands. Refrained with difficulty from punting Zoe, who was still prancing around with a unhappy, live but rather battered mouse in her mouth.
Need coffee. Wiggled the teapot: Needs a little more water. Sink. Faucet. Nothing.
Nothing.
Water finally froze.
I. Hate. Winter.
Yes, I’ve got Plan B water. But the one advantage of an old RV over a cool new cabin with indoor plumbing is that, when the RV’s water freezes, the toilet still works. Y’know?
Bad mood.
It’s pretty ironic that, if you’re going to drop something heavy on your foot, it’ll always end up being the meat foot and not the plastic one.
It must be some sort of law of physics, like bread always landing butter-side down.
It does seem that way. Maybe it’s only perception.
Though there was one incident, many years ago, when I unbolted a big heavy pig of iron off a frame-straightening rack, and it slipped out of my hands and landed smack on my foot, and everybody was all horrified and I just smiled…