...Bitches picking out bedding plants.
The last couple of weeks have been very humbling what with finding out I'm not infallible after all. Add in the ass of a doc and I'm bordering on downright whimpering like a baby.
Okay maybe I have whimpered a bit.
Okay damn it, maybe I've whimpered a lot.
Anyhoo as I've struggled to regain my mojo I was beginning to speculate that the High Blood Pressure had something to do with maintaining my perfect level of sarcasm and bitchiness.
Because as my Blood pressure dropped (now at 93/74 Yay!) I couldn't think of a single sarcastic, bitchy thing to write. Or a single sarcastic, bitchy thing to say.
Instead my head was filled with happy, little thankful thought balloons with prancing kitties and puppies and rainbows and the overwhelming feeling about how good it was to still be alive.
And my teeth were actually starting to hurt from the sweetness of it all.
And while my family seemed to enjoy the "new" me, I felt like someone had picked me up and plunked me down in some freaky "Happyland" cult. I was almost afraid to look in the mirror, in case I saw the front of my hair swept up into a polygamist hump with a braid hanging down the back.
So before I took up skipping I thought I better get back into my regular routine.
Since I went on this medication I had only driven once and had my DD with me. But I thought since I have been consistently low the last 4 days that I would venture out alone to the garden centre and pick up the annuals to do the pots on my deck and my front stoop.
The growing season in this city is short. Short because once summer hits here it's usually too hot and dry to grow a hell of a lot. Short because it has been known here to turn downright nasty in the middle of August. Short because this year it's really only been summer-like-nice here for the last 2 days.
But hey I'll take it, bring on the sun. So with my rose coloured glasses firmly in place and some freaky-assed smile plastered on my face, I skipped over I drove over to the adorable local nursery to avail myself of some of their beautiful wares.
(I bet your teeth are starting to hurt too just reading that last paragraph.)
I was the only shopper there when I arrived so it gave me ample time to size up all the hanging baskets, the pots of bedding out plants and even the perennials. As I already have a garden full of perennials I was most interested in the annuals to fill my pots.
I gave up years ago on trying to have the perfect garden here in this foothills of the Rockies town and now I just concentrate on colour and fragrance. Years ago when we lived on the Wet Coast when I had a 3rd of an Acre of land I grew just about everything. I actually had a floral business where I dried my own flowers and made wreaths, baskets, hats etc and supplied 8 stores at the peak.
Ahhh the late 80's, early 90's. Good times... good times.
(insert screeching sound here of needle ripping across vinyl record.)
Okay back to the present and me with inane grin on face pursuing flowers.
By this point I had engaged the help of one of the workers to get down some hanging baskets for me. As she came up to help me in her low slung micro mini with bikini bottom clearly showing and a table napkin tied around her chest I became fascinated by the amount of hardware she had protruding out of her face.
I'm sure you guys deal with this all of the time , ;) , about where to put your eyes and no doubt you'd be more fascinated by the fact that her 8" micro mini had a convenient zipper right down the middle front or that her table napkin may just have shrunk in the last wash and therefore barely covered her. But me, I was fascinated by the (at least) 12 piercings she had on her face.
Take out all the forehead, eye, neck and chin ones
and leave at least twelve around and in her mouth.
Also imagine this on much prettier young girl.
I told you FASCINATING!
Anyhoo I digress, yet again... I blame it on the meds. The High Blood Pressure also kept me edgy and sharp and not so likely to wander off topic.
As I grabbed a cart to start loading my stuff on, the place started to get busy. And unlike me these were determined crab-faced matrons in polyester pants and sleeveless shells.
Oh and short man-style haircuts. Why is it that some women when they reach a certain age feel the need to strip themselves of all femininity? Off comes the hair, out come the bags that will now suffice as clothing. And a face devoid of moisturizer or makeup...
Anyway you get the pic.
So as I still basked in the warm glow of my new chance at life, I daintily walked around the centre choosing baskets and pots full of gorgeous flowers and added them to my cart. And then out of the corner of my eye I saw one of the dowagers TAKE a pot of MY flowers off my cart. So I ran over and sweetly told her, "I'm sorry that one is taken, that's actually my cart."
Resulting in her bulldog face turning into full growl as she barked at me, "Well, I don't see your name on it."
1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9...
"Really?" "Well, it's right there." as I pointed out the flower's tag.
"Hi, my name's Daisy"... I said smiling and then under my breath "Bitch."
Yay! The mojo's back!
