I know I just waxed rhapsodic about grits only a few weeks ago, but this is imperative. See, since I don’t have to go back to work until Monday (I love saying that on a Thursday morning), I had time for a leisurely breakfast. Well, that is, a leisurely breakfast after I got up at 6:45 to find that Scout decided he couldn’t wait for me to wake up and let him go outside to tinkle and he tinkled in the bedroom, and after I left the house at 7:30 to take 40 minutes to drive 16 miles to the spay and neuter clinic, and after he tried to slip his collar at the clinic, and after he was shaking so violently that my whole body was vibrating while I held him.
Anyway, the point is, that after all that I had time for a leisurely breakfast. And there just happens to be a Cracker Barrel not too far from there. So I had an egg, 2 slices of bacon, a biscuit with apple butter, and a lovely little bowl of grits.
I realize people who don’t understand the goodness that is grits can make fun of them, find them weird or disgusting. And that’s okay with me. The fewer grits they eat, the more there is for those of us who truly appreciate them. And you really do have to doctor them up. I mean, a bowl of grits with no salt and pepper and butter is just gluey ick. But after you add the salt, pepper, and butter, and stir madly until the butter melts, they’re just wonderful. Mmmmm. Grits.
Every time I think of grits, I remember a story my Dad tells about a Yankee lady he once saw in a diner in Georgia. The waiter asked if she wanted grits, and she said that she’d never had grits before, but wouldn’t mind tasting one.
So I’ve been to the clinic, and don’t have to go back until 3 to pick him up. I’ve had breakfast. I went to the pet store; I went to Target to get batteries; I went to Barnes & Noble and spent part of my gift card. I’m home for about 15 minutes, and then I’m off again. I need to go to the dollar store (L-squared is responsible for turning me into a dollar store addict, by the way, and I’m thankful. I love only paying a dollar for a 6-pack of the same scrubbing sponges that would cost me $4 anywhere else), the thrift shop (need costumes for Jehara’s party), the grocery store, the hospital to visit a friend (which reminds me of last night’s Law & Order episode–did y’all see that?!?), and the clinic to pick the dog back up. You might notice that neither the laundromat nor the movie is listed here–that’s because the amount of things I need to do has, as always, expanded to fill more than the time allotted to it. That’s okay. There’s always Friday.
Molly has been a little forlorn since I’ve been home, wondering where Scout is. I’m actually not sure if she’s forlorn because he’s not here, or forlorn because she thinks we got rid of him and is wondering if she’s next.
And speaking of doggie accidents (although it’s never an accident; they do it deliberately, trust me), I went to the pet store and bought a black light to help me detect the remnants of those accidents. I can’t find where he went in the bedroom last night, and there’s somewhere in the living room or kitchen that I haven’t found. And rather than crawl along the floor sniffing in an attempt to find the unmistakeable and distinctly disgusting concentrated aroma of dog pee, I’d rather use the black light. The trainer told us, though, that we will get completely grossed out the first time we use it. So not looking foward to that!
I’ve been listening to Jim Dale’s reading of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets in the car. I cracked up during the description of when the trio took the polyjuice potion to turn into Crabbe, Goyle, and what Hermione thought would be Millicent Bulstrode. Dale pronounces the word “booger” like boo-ger instead of buh-ger. Okay, you probably had to have heard it and had my inane sense of humour to find it funny, but it was. I giggled about that for at least ten minutes. Not non-stop giggling, just sporadic giggling. And just for the record, I prefer the word “bogey.”
I met with my bishop at church on Tuesday evening. In the course of our conversation, I told him that I was weird, and he quickly told me that I was not weird. I think if he read this blog post, he’d change his mind.