Mystery Lunch

Excerpt from a conversation with a three-and-a-half year-old who happened upon me today at 12:30 and introduced herself as Leah:

Leah: Oh, hi. What are you doing in here?
Me: Cleaning up the art room.
Leah: Do you work here?
Me: Yes. Do you take classes here?
Leah: Yes. And I'm going home. That's why I'm here. Because I'm going home.
Me: That sounds good. What are you going to do at home?
Leah: Eat lunch. See my mom.
Me: Oh! That's nice. What will you have for lunch?
Leah: Chippies.
Me: Tell me again?
Leah: Chippies.
Me: Chippies. Will you have anything else?
Leah: Nope. When I eat chippies, that's all I have.
Me: Oh. Interesting! What are they like? (trying to figure out what in the hell she's talking about) Are they crunchy?
Leah: I'm not sure. No. Not crunchy. I'm not sure what they're like. (grinning in a big way) They just taste like chippies.

Countdown

In approximately 72 days (give or take, people! I'm not a botanist!) we will be able to say goodbye to these horrid, sad, genetically modified impostors shipped from faraway lands! No longer will an entire carton of strawberries be mainly white in color! Finally, strawberries will taste like something! Finally, strawberries won't taste like styrofoam! Soon, everyone, soon! Strawberries we can be proud of! They're coming. Hang on. You can make it!

Sunday Chores

There's always tomorrow, right?

A Cozy New Suit

You lurk deep, little lemon, you lurk deep. Somehow, amongst all your yellow-suited brothers and sisters in the bottom of the refrigerator drawer, you decided to change clothes -- is this really necessary, or are you just a show-off? Either way, you look adorable. Not quite as charming as a freshly-baked puppy, but still pretty fuzzy and cute. But cuteness pays a price! You will not be dining with me tonight. You will be dining by yourself, in the bottommost part of the trash can.

Sorry, my lemon.