(Today's were not so much planned as mandatory. MORE unfinished business. By now, I've swept SO much of it under the rug, I'm in real danger of tripping over the hazardous surface I've created. Indead, I was reminded of this fact on my parapatetic outing. Decided to turn left - toward the aea inhabited by 'the swells.')
Planning is quite 'de rigueur' in these parts. But you musn't let on that you've been planning or - lest you risk being snubbed even by yourself - that said plans were to be executed by one paid to perform such services - as opposed to being a regular 'Jo', grabbing your trusty, monogrammed hoe (or whatever) and 'doing' the yard. Lord knows, you don't need 'Angie's List" to find the old sneaks, some protective (Protects you from being fund out as the actual yard schlepper) Fotunately, it's not "Only the lonely. . ." but the healthy, who really dig in.
(Digging - in, around and as close to these neighbors' window dressing as I coud get without some embodiment of Homeland Security - on break from keeping our armed forces safe - jumping those referenced bones to see just what they were up to - was my game; 'flake m- to be sure the name as I dutifully my way to a better, more solid, calcium + Vitamin D-infused skeletal assemblage. And just my luck I was rounding)
. . . out his sentence and there's the doorbell. Better get that. If I don't get to our UPS guy before hubbhy, well, dinner getsa tediously quiet. Till tomorrow
Later, Lorane. . . .
