Write about something that is: filthy.
Busy morning at the bakery, followed by an afternoon with Max. Also trying to find time to get ready for Saturday morning at the market.
Because I'll be picking strawberries tomorrow morning, and then working a relief shift at the community centre from 1 to 9 before having to get up around 5:30 Saturday morning in order to get to Penticton at a good time.
And yes, when I got the call yesterday afternoon asking if I could work the Friday shift, I did agree to it because I make poor life decisions.
Oh well, exhaustion never killed anybody. Right?
"Filthy? That's a tad harsh, isn't it?"
"It's accurate, is what it is."
"Oh come on! We're not talking about a landfill or a mechanic's underpants here."
"Might as well be. Not that I'd care to know how you know what a mechanic's underpants are like."
"Oh, I think you might."
"I'll save that one until we've worked our way through another bottle of wine then. Anyway, I don't think you're being entirely fair right now."
"And I think you're being too sensitive. It's filthy and that's all there is to it."
"Really? That's how you're choosing to describe your granddaughter's face after dessert?"