A Bit Surprising...

So here we are, emerging from a pandemic and ready to get our lives back to normal. 

Wheeee!

Except… what’s normal now?

Because like it or not, things have changed. Fifteen months is time enough to shift lifestyles and ingrain new habits and I’m finding that a lot of people are not the same as I remember. (Probably including me, but those changes seem more natural.) 

Has this happened to any of you?

You chat with a dear friend and find yourself thinking, “When did you get so boring?”

Or is that just me?

Interestingly, this effect seems most apparent in my Type A personality friends. I’m not a psychologist, so I won't even attempt any armchair analyzing of How This Happened. All I know is that some of my friends have forgotten how to talk to others. I’ve lost count of the number of conversations in which I’m either having my feet held to the fire as I'm grilled for minute details, or I'm not given the time to get a word in edgewise. 

I realize none of this is intentional but it’s trying, nonetheless. These are still wonderful people and I still care for and about them - but our worlds have shifted. Our lives are not as aligned as they once were, and it’s going to be more effort than I’d anticipated to keep the connecting doors open.

The problem is, that requires patience -  which is not my finest quality even at the best of times, much less after the year we’ve all had. 

*inserts contemplative pause*

It will be interesting to see how this all works out.

    Says the woman planning her summer around her Type B chums...

Behind The Eight Ball

I probably shouldn’t be surprised that a week that began with my first-ever earthquake just ran away with me, but that’s what happened. (I do realize that those of you who live in California and such-like parts are yawning at me, but around here, noticeable shudderings of the very soil on which you stand are rare.) It was an odd, unsettling experience that segued right into a string of other odd, unsettling experiences.

My brand-spanky-new water pump decided to celebrate it’s one-week anniversary by dying - which it did overnight so as to really catch me by off-guard. (Because 5:00 a.m. isn’t hard enough to deal with without crises…)

Then I got a phone call from the contact-tracer at work: “X didn’t think her time with you had amounted to 15 minutes but I want to be sure that you agree with that…” Fortunately, I did. We’d been in the same room for longer, but had performed the close-contact dance, so all was well. I won’t try to kid you that my heart didn’t spend some time in my throat, however…

Happily, all this stress coincided with my annual deep-cleaning frenzy, so I’ve vented my frustrations by manhandling much within my home. I’ve scrubbed walls, floors, and ceilings, ripped up ancient carpets and padding, set fire to my credit card with a flurry of replacement purchases, shifted heavy furniture hither and yon, vacuumed heating ducts, - and in my spare time, braided a throw rug, because I couldn’t find what I wanted for one room. (Braiding done, still sewing…)

I’m not quite done with the cleaning yet, nor is the water situation completely resolved, but things are starting to settle down… and look up. I had a lovely Face Time movie viewing with a favorite niece, I found a chicken pot pie recipe to die for (well, actually, I hacked two together but boy howdy, was it good!), I now have sensible-but-festive Thanksgiving plans, my new dragon is on its way, and Best of All, I got to talk to SP last night! As he and I are rarely on the same continent anymore, that was a lovely and unexpected treat, so I happily braved sleep deprivation All For Him. He may not be the one I call my beau any longer, but he is still dearer to me than ‘most anyone else on the planet and I always feel much better after time spent in contact with him. Beautifully timed, my love - thank you.

So in celebration of the turning tide (AND the close contact dance!), let’s see in the weekend on a celebratory note. (Of a better sort than the one my pump chose.)

Let’s get out there and have just as much fun as these two are! 

Fall Fell

Driving to the farmers market last weekend, I realized that the trees had not only started to change early but that they were actually producing a very pretty display this year. I’m not sure how this happened in the midst of a drought… or even how something so lovely could possibly occur in 2020…, but there you have it. There was inarguably stunning foliage.

It didn’t take long for the 2020 Effect to make itself known, however… within 3 days, the pretty was gone: the leaves had dropped, turned brown, and were just messing up yards. (Red and yellow on your lawn is glorious - brown is not.) Fall had been early, fast, and short.

Which particularly sucks because I still haven’t reached the point where I’m prepared for it to be fall. I know a lot of people are grateful that a long, hot summer is over and that the crisp air of autumn is here - and I suppose that, to some degree, I am too. But the problem is that I have been so face down in work for so long that I’m out of sync with the calendar. I’m raking fall leaves in jeans and sweatshirt but my brain is still expecting shorts and sleeveless shirts and wondering when I can sneak off to the beach. I need more transition time, people!!!

Still, it’s nice to feel like there’s at least a little bit of positive change in the wind. I’m not such an optimist that I think everything’s going to be okay once 2021 comes - we’re kinda too far down the toilet for that. But I am willing to believe that we may soon be able to reverse direction and start the long upward haul up out of the plumbing. (God willing and the crick don’t rise…)

The universe is doing its best to encourage this sense of cautious optimism, as well. I have two friends whose cancer has gone into remission, our family is expecting the first of a new generation soon, and my sex life has undergone an unexpected revival. (List in order of importance but not necessarily of impact. ;-D) 

Now if it will just provide some rain… and maybe some attitude adjustment at work, I might even be able to bumble along in a reasonably content manner!

In Which I Give Myself a Break

The day started with a person who misspelled her own name and then pitched a screaming fit at me because her login didn’t work — and it went from there.

Yeah... long day.

Coming home, I had just gotten to the busiest stretch of highway when 3 different cars all started weaving in and out of lanes at over 80 mph, because the 75 that the rest of us were doing simply wasn’t good enough. 

Unhappily, it was also at precisely that moment that I got a snootful of ragweed pollen and began to sneeze.

  Violently and repeatedly.

Cars whizzed by as my life tried to pass before my streaming eyes. (Seriously, have you ever tried to keep your eyes open while you’re sneezing?)

Eventually, however, the sneezing stopped, the mad weavers were nothing but blurs on the horizon, and the rest of us continued along our zippy-but-otherwise-sensible ways.

Several minutes later, as I gratefully reached my exit, happy to be leaving the madhouse and oh-so-thankful the danged day was over, I realized I’d completely forgotten about the haircut appointment I was supposed to be at in five minutes…, 13 minutes back the way I’d come from on the highway.

*grumble, grumble, grumble*

But, you know what?

Where I get my hair cut is in a lovely tourist destination town along the coast, with excellent seafood shacks that look out over water. (Some look out over a river, some over ocean inlets, but a pretty view is a pretty view, right?)

So I decided to make lemonade and turn that miserable (tho’ sneeze-free!) back-track into a mood switch. Me ’n’ my newly-shorn head went to my favorite shack, ordered the fried shrimp plate with sweet potato fries (and slaw!) and sat at a picnic table to watch the dying light play over clouds and water while I listened to the clang of distant halyards slapping in the wind. My mouth was happy, my eyes were happy, my ears were happy. My last nerve welcomed back several of its recently-departed brethren. 

    SO much better!

Really, I thought as I drove home again, along the scenic road this time, the only thing that could make this evening better is ice cream… So I swung by Dairy Queen and got a caramel apple pie blizzard!

Water views and food comas - best way to end a wretched week EVAH!

The Unexpected Appointment

Apparently, my calendar app knows I'm about to blow…

Stop Me Before I Order Again!

It’s not that I’m refusing to go into stores or anything like that, but let’s face it… you cannot be fussy these days. Shelves aren’t empty - but you have to be willing to accept substitutes - which I frequently am… but I also know that I can probably get The Very Thing somewhere online. If I just, you know, spend a little time looking and browsing…

Warning Siren GIF from Warning GIFs

And so it begins.

I generally start off with a very legitimate, albeit sometimes quirky, need. 

Like when I broke the carafe of my french press 

and watched a whole batch of fresh cold brew seep into my rug…

“Ooh, wouldn’t these scoops make nice Christmas gifts!?”

*click!*

“That reminds me - I’m nearly out of oat milk”

*click!*

Or when my lawn mower needed a new filter…

“I should probably get another gas cover while I’m at it…” (my hedge eats them)

*click!*

“Oh, yeah, I poked through my gardening gloves”

*click!*

Or the book repair tissue I wanted to reinforce the mangled fingernail I’m growing back…

“That paper would make gorgeous decoupage boxes!”

*click!*

“Might as well throw in that library stamp I’ve been wanting.”

*click!*

Granted, sometimes the browsing is pure frivolity - because I got suckered by an ad...

“50% Off?? I need a new summer nightie!” (tho’ no one ever sees them)

*click!*

Or there’s a sale on jigsaw puzzles...

“Who knows how long we’ll have to quarantine this winter?!”

*click!*

“OK, maybe just one more…”

*click!*

And in my defense, sometimes I actually do manage to control myself…

“That bone folder would make a nice wispy edge for gluing…”

*mmm… Nah.*

Nonetheless, I'm starting to fear that one day I’ll look up and realize I now own one of these:

But how fun would that be?!?

Year of Wonders, ARB-style

2020 really seems to have it in for us, doesn’t it?

You’d think a global pandemic that is killing millions would be enough crisis for one year but no, we’ve also got bushfires, floods, earthquakes, tornados, and plagues of flippin' locusts!
Not to mention social upheaval and political trauma during a very divisive election year here.

side note to the archaeologists in Egypt:

But it’s not just the big picture items that are being affected… 

       because The Weird is trickling down into all aspects of life.

Covid-19 has pretty much single-handedly brought my sex life to its knees. 

Yes, all right, fine, most of my sex life generally takes place with me on my knees anyhow… but that’s not what I’m talking about here, ok?

You can’t drive anywhere with friends anymore, so we all have to take separate cars and FaceTime each other from our dashboards.

My book club has disbanded, so for the first time in 7 years, I am reading nothing but exactly and only What I Want To. Granted, that part’s not all bad, but there’s also nobody to talk about “that hysterical scene” with either, and I miss that - and them.

The good news is that I can get a massage again...

As long as I don’t mind laying there, nekkid as a jaybird except for a mask.

       (Which I don’t, because Masks for the Win, m’k?) 

But still, it feels peculiar, even for a kinky chick.

I've only gone out for ice cream once this summer. 

       *grumble, grumble*

The resultant dairy-deficiency left me vulnerable to persuasion and in moment of frailty, I ate some chocolate hummus... and even dipped twice. (Quick, someone take my temperature!)

The ungodly summer hours are still taking a toll on me. Mornings used to be when I did most of my blog reading but now I rarely turn on my computer before 8 at night, so I am woefully behind in my bloggy reading, much less (hahahahaha!) writing.

The ultimate indignity however, is the fact that The Stress Of It All is wreaking havoc on my acid reflux, which in turn has made it (temporarily!) necessary for me to... Give Up Coffee!!!!!

via Gfycat

I'd say, "What next?", but I don't want to give the universe any ideas!

A Slip of the Snips

You may recall that when last we spoke of my brush-chopping progress, I had hauled away over 400 pounds of the stuff. Well, it’s two months later and… you need to triple that. 

Yep - I have been on a rampage. 

Mind you, the yard is nowhere near denuded but people are definitely noticing that “you’ve cleared out a lot!”  Why, yes. Yes, I have. 

Wild roses?

*snip!* 

Brambles? 

*snip!* 

Russian olive?

*snip!*  

Chokecherry?

*snip!* 

Wild grapes?

*shit!* 

I don’t think I whoopsie’d enough to actually derail up my autumn jelly-making plans but watching those gorgeous green clusters of future goodness spill to the ground amid a tangle of rose and olive shards was a very disappointing moment, nonetheless.

Step Away From the Shears, Jz…

Earthly Delights

For all the chopping of brush, chainsawing of trees, and mowing of lawn that’s been going on around here, one thing I hadn’t gotten to was my flower garden. It was weeded and ready to go but my usual sources of inexpensive seedlings have either closed down or have been wiped out by this year’s unusually high demand. (Has anyone else noticed how remarkably nice peoples yards look this year?) Time after time, I’ve been met by shelves that are picked over to near-emptiness, with only the occasional forlorn straggler slumped limply in a corner. (And never in the color I want.)

I felt the lack, but it wasn’t such a big deal that getting flowers became A Mission. I pretty much shrugged and said, “oh well… next year.”

So, yesterday’s big event was to finally head to my favorite farmer’s market. It’s a bit of a hike but it’s a) fairly big, b) close to a fantastic coffee place, and c) open on Saturday. (WHY do so many farmers markets take place mid-day of mid-week???) 

My head swimming with visions of leafy greens, strawberries, and rhubarb, I set out. I was running late, having availed myself of the Saturday morning stay-in-bed opportunity, but I was still hopeful. Naively so, as it turned out. There were leafy greens aplenty, but not a berry or stalk in sight. I added some shallots and potatoes to the armful of greens and took my leave - weighing the delights of berries against the benefits of sleep as I went, and questioning my priorities.

My subconscious must have decided to take pity on me, however, because on the way home, I actually noticed (in time to turn off the road, even) that a little home-style farm stand that I’d thought closed a couple of years ago seemed to be open. I parked and went for a closer look.

Fifteen minutes later, I got back into my car, which was now stuffed with rhubarb, strawberries, blueberries, even some very early corn… AND… flowers! 

I am now chock-a-block with gorgeously healthy zinnia, vibrant ruffled petunia, lantana, and a couple of anonymous but very pretty filler plants. So this afternoon, after yet another round of mowing, I’ll be spiffing up the flower garden in hopes of colorful summer pleasure.

A Riddle For the Ages

So there I was, chugging along the road on my way home, when a sharp tap on the brakes was required. Ahead of me, an extremely dignified chicken paused to confirm that I was indeed going to stop, then resumed its stately, solitary, and apparently pointless crossing from one vacant lot to another.

Seriously? I mean, I know 2020 is a joke, but really???

Friends

For quite some time now, I’ve been trying to tackle the topic of “friendship”. 

Doesn’t sound like it should be such a hard thing to write about, does it? Yet there are so many different views of what constitutes “friendship”.

For some people, friends are the people you build your social life around.

That’s not really how it works for me, tho’. Rather, my friendships are matters of the heart.

I’m pretty much a loner. I’m fairly introverted, quite content to be left alone with my own head, and I lean toward misanthropy. Not someone with large social requirements, by any stretch of the imagination.

Yet, I have what is apparently considered by many people to be “a lot” of friends - which seems almost contradictory. 

It doesn’t feel that way, tho’. 

Human nature (my own included) may irritate the pants off of me but getting to know the parts of people that rise above expectations is one of the great joys in life. Not that I’m looking for perfection, we’re all too checkered for that. In fact, I prefer people who have edges, places where the good meets the bad (or at least, will nod and wave at it in passing.)

Perhaps my expectations are different than the norm, but I don’t need for people to be ideal fits with me (my experience has been that you will spend a lot of time alone if you take that approach.) Instead, I look for areas of compatibility. In my book, finding those areas, or even actually drawing one out of someone, is well worth any effort or temporary discomfort. It’s like reading novels with happy endings - you gain something to help offset the vagaries of life.

When I think about my friends then, what I see is a collection of people who embody all the things that are good about humanity. The individual proportions of good to bad may vary, but every single one of them enrichs me. They bring good into my life… and keep my heart open to finding even more good in others. 

And I am really, really tired of cancer snatching any of that goodness away from me.

So, this is for my friend, who will never again tease me about “those chocolate jaw breaker thingies” … and who really liked this song.

Pandemic Challenges - #8

This morning was my first venture-forth since they recommended the wearing of face masks… and it was a bizarre experience, to say the least. But at least I had something to wear - it had been touch and go there for a bit.

I do have the odd stash of respirator masks left over from the Big Project of Fall 2019, but those are not “wash and re-use”able and they’re too dratted expensive to use as throw-aways. I'm saving those for emergencies. 

I don’t use bandanas.

There are no old t-shirts in my wardrobe… BG took care of that with his periodic, “wear something I can rip” instructions.

Nor was I willing to de-pleat a bunch of coffee filters. I need those for my coffee, dammit!

(Priorities, people!)

But that’s okay… I can sew something, right? It doesn’t have to be a masterpiece of tailoring, I just need a couple of layers of fabric between my respiratory system and the rest of the world. 

Easy peasy.

I googled and found a simple, quick & easy pattern.

I found a suitable lone pillowcase that I was willing to sacrifice on the altar of public safety.

I measured, I cut, I ironed.

I gathered everything together, dusted off my long-ignored sewing machine, and stepped on the pedal. 

*snap!* 

The drive belt that moves the needle broke in half - a victim of age.

Muttering invective, I broke out needle, thread, and thimble… and began to hand sew.

My face masks were still simple… still fairly easy… 

     but by no stretch of the imagination were they “quick”

However, they are finished and functional.

You take your satisfaction where you can find it these days!

It's Friday - Let's Dance!

Looking at my calendar back in early February, I knew that March was going to be a hectic month…  and then they tossed in Covid-19.

So hectic has turned to chaotic AND apocalyptic.
Work is a nightmare and I haven’t truly relaxed in weeks.

But life goes on, right? I have a roadtrip ahead of me, a family wedding to attend, and while I’m away, I’m having lunch with my college bestie, who I haven’t seen in googobs.

So despite the fact that my family’s happiness is about to put me in the poorhouse, I am reminded that life may be messy, but it’s also full of joy - and to help us remember that, tonight we’ll be dancing in the rain, courtesy of Mira Nair and “Monsoon Wedding” 

(If you haven't seen this film, go find it immediately!)

The Tech Dance

So, my dom has been keeping me up late lately.

Sounds exhilarating, doesn't it?

Sadly, it's not, At least not in the "Hey! kinky hi-jinx goin' on!" kinda way. It's more that he's upgrading his computer and keeps peppering me with late-night questions.

Now obviously, I don’t really mind. Kink-jinx or not, I do find it exhilarating to be able to help him and I also love the fact that our power exchange does not warp his common sense. He may be able to code-monkey circles around me but when it comes to making upgrades play nice, my expertise outstrips his - and he's willing to recognize that and utilize my knowledge. It’s a small thing, but it makes me happy.

Nonetheless, there are still Y chromosomes at play here, so it's not an entirely smooth process. In this case, however the hiccups are not triggered by any posturing but rather, by his secret longing to buy some expensive new tech toy to play with. Naturally, he won't come out and tell me that, however. Instead, he tries to lead me around to a point where I'll suggest that he should buy said new toy. (Altho' he always goes ahead and does just that anyhow, so I'm not sure what the point is... except maybe the fun of manipulation?)

This seemingly-unfocused procession made me nuts the first time or two but once I figured out what was going on, it became part of the dance. His hints get broader and broader and I act more and more obtuse. We each know what the other is doing, of course, but we both enjoy the verbal tango, so it all works out.

However, I think that next time, I may change my strategy.

I'll suggest the new toy right at the beginning... which will make him happy.

And then I'll claim all the credit. 

          Persistently.

          For years to come.

After all, when doing the tech dance, you have to keep on your toes, right?

Songs of the Kitchen

(September Song Project, #4)

Generally, I can manage to produce some pretty tasty meals... but an ungodly September workload has been wreaking havoc on the cooking mojo around here. 

The food has gone from singing with flavor to crying for mercy.

I made:

Peach muffins.

From gorgeous, succulent, orchard-fresh globes of goodness, obtained by special trip to the farmer’s market, specifically to try out a new “Oooh! Makes a double-batch!” recipe. 

Charred to within an inch of their lives.

Meatloaf.

I borked meatloaf, for cripesake. 

Who screws that up? 

Well… me, apparently.

Now, I didn’t burn it… and the texture was terrific. BUT my total omission of seasoning in any form; salt, pepper, or otherwise, resulted in a perfectly cooked, superbly textured loaf of Bland.

HOWEVER…!

If you think I’m letting a little carbon (or too little sodium) get the better of me, you seriously misunderstand just how ornery I truly am. I absolutely refused to throw these dishes out. 

(I could claim noble intentions but really, it was less a case of “waste not, want not” than sheer, stubborn refusal to accept culinary defeat.)

So I crumbled the meatloaf into a skillet, took a paring knife to the crunchy black muffin skin, and produced a magnificent dinner of superbly saucy (and very well-seasoned) shepherd’s pie, with creamy, custardy peach muffin bread pudding for dessert. 

HA!

Same food, different tune.

Take that, you cooking gremlins, you!

p.s - did YOU know this wasn't done by Aretha?

I sure didn't.

Singin' - Rain or... Shine?

(September Song Project, #2)

I was listening to some children singing the other day and thought to myself, “My goodness, songs have changed a lot since I was little…”  Then I paused to think... and gave myself a case of the giggles. I didn't exactly sing normal songs myself, come to think of it. 

We always sang in the car, Mom and I, but for whatever reason, there was never a radio on. Instead, we had to come up with our own playlists - and since a repertoire consisting solely of “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star” and "The Eentsy Weentsy Spider" would have gotten very old, very fast, Mom had me cutting my teeth on old sheet music ditties quicker ’n’ you could say, “Happy Fourth Birthday!”

We did a lot of Workin’ on the Railroad ... It was probably the travel theme that made it such a popular choice but I also never missed an opportunity to throw myself, heart and soul, into those Fi Fi Fiddly-eye-oh’s - particularly that final, drawn-out, high-note of an “OoooooooooooOH!” So it's entirely possible that I stacked the deck a bit with some preemptive launches.

Another popular tune had us moderating the war between the sexes with Reuben and Rachel, in which we'd take turns singing each part and sometimes even try it out as a round.

But my absolute favorite car singing experience was when I got to belt out the words of that paean to moonshine, Little Brown Jug. It wasn’t a well-known song in my tiny New England village but Mom grew up in the coal mining hills of West Virginia, so that might explain how it made the cut. Whatever the origin, I just LOVED singing the “Ah ha ha ha”’s. To the extent, in fact, that it’s still one of the snatches of song that slip out of my mouth when I’m just warbling mindlessly.

Although, on second thought, I'm starting to wonder if it's the song itself - or if it might be those West Virginia genes coming to the fore... Because there's another sticky-bit of song in my head that strikes a similar chord.

You see, about the same time that Mom and I were wearing out the lyrics of Little Brown Jug, my brother was honing his banjo skills on The Ballad of Thunder Road - and whenever he'd get to the chorus, the whole family would break out in boisterous accompaniment, from all corners of the house. Even to this day, you can still hear "Thunder, thunder, over Thunder Road!" around these parts. (Thunder was his engine and white lightning was his load, don'cha know?)

I also still have a bunch of those old brown jugs still kicking around in the attic.
Hmmmmmm... (she retreats thoughtfully)

Singin' in the Rain

(September Song Project, #1)

The afternoon thunderstorm turned the sky pitch-dark and loosed a sudden, torrential downpour that flooded the serpentine back road. I squinted through sheets of water, my windshield wipers squeaking in furious motion before me. As I carefully rolled to a stop at the intersection, my eye was caught by a burst of motion off to my right.

A boy, maybe 10 years old, was in the side road. 

Shirtless, clad only in bathing trunks, he was “walking” the family dog -

In the pouring rain - 

While wearing roller skates. 

The dog? 

Was a Doberman. 

A larger-than-boy, prancing, puddle-loving Doberman.

They were splashing and swooping wildly along the road, having the absolute time of their lives. I could hear the barking and laughter even through closed windows and the din of rain pounding on the car roof.

#BestMomentofTheWeek

Art NOT Imitating Life

(yes, the grammar makes me cringe - but it's too hot to fiddle with corrections)

Nope - don'choo worry - I did NOT have to make that face.

Not At All.

Instead, my birthday was splendido - well-wishes aplenty, with lots of cake and cookies… 

and I fully intend to correct the ice cream imbalance over the weekend.

Oh! 

And! 

Look!

Santa spoke to the birthday fairy -

I gots IGIKERE COFFEE!

Life is good.

As An Independent Woman...

I’m quite fond of Independence Day!

The week has been nutso, so this is exactly the kind of holiday I want:

Solitary and calm, with lots of quiet sparkle.

May your celebrations meet your needs, as well.

Happy Fourth of July!

In Which I Fail BFF'ing

There’s a little shopping plaza in town that’s been vacant for a while now, but finally, the “Coming Soon” signs were swapped out for ones announcing, “Grand Opening!”. (“Grand” being a relative term in this instance, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.) 

Naturally, Tiny Woman and I had to go check it all out. (One must keep one’s retail knowledge au courant, don’t you know.) The stores make nice additions to the local shopping opportunities, to be sure… but the parking lot is one hot mess. Full of narrow aisles, poor traffic flow, confusing junctions, and misaligned lines, this thing completely sucks eggs.

After my third harrowing experience in less than two minutes, I turned to my friend of 45 years and expostulated, “Who on EARTH designed this miserable parking lot?!?”

Solemnly, my bestie (did I mention she's a civil engineer?) replied, “Actually, I did.”

My face froze into what I hoped was stoic neutrality, but inwardly... I was banging my forehead on the steering wheel and groaning, “fuuuuuuuuhhhck!”

She kept me hanging like that for a couple of VERY long minutes before she grinned and added, “But the construction company went rogue when they laid the parking lot. This is not the parking lot I drew up.”

*phew!*

(One of us enjoyed that moment a LOT more than the other one, let me just mention.)