I bought Food Lion–brand French Roast this week. It was less than half the price of my usual brand, which is Starbucks French Roast. And do you know it’s delicious? It’s just as good as my expensive kind, and I have no idea when I turned into such a dreadful bore, but there it is.
A few years ago I tutored a woman who was earning her GED, and she always called that particular store The Ghetto Lion. Whenever I go in there and see the sad display of holiday items they have when you first walk in, or observe the downtrodden people there, I think of her saying that. But the upside is no one demands that they have an olive bar.
I like my Ghetto Lion. It’s little and old-fashioned and kind of reminds me of Ray’s Food Fair from my youth. When you first walked in to Ray’s Food Fair, and what a fair that would be, they had cardboard boxes lined up for anyone to take who was moving or what have you. Sometimes I have dreams that I’m in Ray’s Food Fair.
One time, she says, warming up to Ray’s Food Fair memories, it was really cold out. We’d had a snowstorm and seeing that it was Michigan it was probably August, but whatever. My father said we should walk to the grocery store for hot chocolate, because if we walked we’d feel like we really earned it. I was like, four, and agreed to this because I wasn’t fussy yet.
Naturally, I slid on the ice and fell right on my face, and my father assured me it was okay, stop crying, and we traipsed on into the night toward our hot chocolate. It was dangling like a carrot before us.
It was only in the light of, yes, Ray’s Food Fair that my father saw I was sporting something of a blood beard. I mean, I’d really hurt my face. It’s been killing all of you ever since. I still have a slight scar on one of my chins.
In other news, it’s not winter here.
I’ve been wearing this Oil of Olay Microsculpting cream, and I feel like in real life my face isn’t shiny, but in photos you can see your reflection in my face. The Poet looks cute, though.
After work, I shone my face over at home, I reflected at home, where I played with Old Yeller and his Blu-er.
This morning, he fell trying to jump on the bed. His old-ish hips are bothering him. The vet said it’s hip dysplasia; I give him fish oil and this other supplement every day. I hate to give up on chasing Blu as hard as he does, so maybe we need some kind of real drug.
Also outside with us was Jungle Mill.
I might change his cat-name spelling to Millhouse, because it’s easier. What say you?
Oh, and speaking of what say you, MAN, with the comments yesterday! That was exciting. You are all excellent participators.
I had better get ready for work. I have had a stupid morning already. First of all, I couldn’t fall asleep till after 11 p.m., then when I got up I couldn’t find my slipper (mysteriously it was near the back door), and then I COULD NOT log in to either Chrome or this site, I mean I really could not for like 20 minutes and I got mad and then Edsel cowered and then I felt bad.
THEN I couldn’t get photos to drag to my desktop and why must everything piss me off?
Anyway, now I have to get ready for work and when I get there I will already be frazzled, and would you like to know what annoys me? When people say “razzle-dazzle.”