Today, instead of talking about pulse-pounding razzamatazz, I’m going to talk about the exact opposite, yawn-worthy dullness.
This current dullness has manifested itself in what I believe is a most ridiculous way. You see, here at Chez Bean we are experiencing a dearth of twisty ties. Yes, we have almost run out of those little wire doodads that you use to close plastic bags.
In fact, we only have FOUR unused twisty ties in the house. That’s it.
We used to have about four hundred thousand million of those things floating around in various kitchen drawers. But now they are so rare [and precious] that I even know what color they are: 3 beige and 1 orange. I watch over them as if they were made of gold.
This is sad. And dull. And would not be worthy of note here except that it allows me to ask you, gentle readers, a question:
what kind of yawn-worthy dullness are you currently dealing with in your life?
I’ve fessed up. Now it’s your turn to do the same. In the comments below. If you please.
Here is what was in my mind when I woke up this morning:
DON’T BE KRILL.
What does this mean? I can’t figure out why I was thinking this, but that hasn’t stopped me from spending a good part of this morning ruminating about it. Because, as you know, I loves me a good rumination.
[Plus it’s NaBloPoMo– the time of year when any & all happenings are potential blog post fodder.]
# # #
After rising, I told Zen-Den what was in my mind at 6:00 a.m. when his alarm clock, set on a Mexican music station, jolted us awake.
Being a lawyer he started to cross-examine my testimony.
It was the word KRILL? Not the word SHRILL? Or PILL?
Was there a whale involved? Because you know whales eat krill?
What were you thinking about last night when you went to sleep? Fish?
[Immediately, I regretted my decision to share with him. Can you understand why? Are those way too many questions for non-caffeinated me in the morning? The answer is YES.]
# # #
So what do you think, gentle readers? Why was krill on my brain when I woke up this morning? Explain it to me. Tell me a story from your life. Make something up. Humor me. Just give me a reason why it was there… and then I’ll be happy.
[Thank you in advance for your insightful comments on this topic of vital importance!]
Simple and suburban by nature, you exude a cozy warmth that lets people know you don’t mind if they leave their shoes on in the house — it’s only carpet, after all! Family and friends are important to you, and you love having them stop by. While not overly fussy or vain, you care about your looks — but honestly, you’re happiest in sweatpants. To you, life isn’t measured in the goods you’ve acquired, but in time well spent.
• My results linked to a webpage that explained that I am more than likely to be a… [mighty, mighty] brick house:
“Ranch homes tend to be easy to maintain because they’re often made of brick, which requires little fuss, and they’re sparsely adorned.”
• Oddly accurate, don’t you think? [Even more interesting when you consider that the last question on the quiz asked which dog I preferred: a basset hound or a golden retriever? I chose basset hound. If I had chosen golden retriever, then my architectural personality would have been Greek Revival— which doesn’t seem like me at all even though I like golden retrievers.]
[Subtitled: Somewhat Organized Thoughts Upon The Occasion of A Hopefully Random Act of Very Minor Violence]
Our mailbox is a rectangular, black metal one that sits on top of a white wooden post by the street. It was tomato-ed. This is a first for us.
In the past our mailbox has been: smashed with a baseball bat; peanutbutter-ed; egged; toilet paper-ed; and robbed. [One summer I decided to put a small bracket on the back of the white post and hang a basket of geraniums from it. Very pretty… for the few days that it was there before someone stole it.] But we’ve never had a tomato thrown at it.
The attack of this not-so-rotten tomato occurred between 6:30 a.m. and 8:00 a.m. while I drove Z-D to work. Our mailbox, which is large, shiny and very noticeable when pulling out of our driveway, was just fine when we left home. But when I got back home, the door to it was hanging open and there was a small dent in the side of it. This I saw from the driveway as I pulled in.
It wasn’t until I walked down our driveway to see up-close what had happened that I realized that we had been tomato-ed with a large, firm, red tomato that left its seedy drool all over one side of our mailbox– and its gushy guts in the grass around the bottom of the wooden post.
As I didn’t grow up in suburbia I can only guess at the motivations for tomato-ing someone’s mailbox. Questions plague me.
Which came first: the tomato or the mailbox?
Was this planned? And if so, where did the perp get his or her tomato? Stolen from someone’s garden? Purloined from Mom’s frig? Purchased at Kroger?
Is it possible that our mailbox wasn’t the intended target?
Considering there are high school kids in the two house across the street from us & in one house next door to us, I have to wonder if this is a case of mistaken tomato-ing.
Answers to these questions elude me, leaving me to suspect that the real reason our mailbox was tomato-ed has nothing to do with logic. I imagine, that like many things in life, the real reason that our mailbox was tomato-ed is that it was in the right place at the wrong time.