Kankles, Karma and Kittens
LeAnn Wester Stephenson
Friends, there's something about me that you should know: I'm a wussy, cry baby, whiney pants.
I'm talkin' cranky baby squared! And to prove my point, I'd like to present you with some ex-post facto - which is Latin for "Lord, that girl can complain!" So, pay attention, there will be a quiz later.
Fact #1: I'm in a circus-type tent in the middle of a cow pasture for this Fall's Antiques Week.
Fact #2: All of my vintage crap, I mean merchandise, is placed in and around said circus tent.
Fact #3: It is hurricane season.
Fact #4: It has been raining off and on for the past 4 days.
Fact #5: I have taken up yoga to calm my over-caffeinated mind and slim my over-fed body.
Fact #6: There are fire ants in my socks.
Fact #7: I'm a teensy weensy bit allergic to said ants of the fire persuasion - I have "kankles," which the urban dictionary defines as calves that become feet without taking an ankle break.
Fact #8: Flea markets and antique shows medical facilities usually have to shoulder other responsibilities. For example, the First Aid slash Central Office slash concession booth that administered a dose of Benadryl to me came with a kettle corn chaser and a bar-b-que'd turkey leg - now that's health care reform!
Fact #9: And before any of that happened, our new kitty decided today would be a good day to have violently explosive diarrhea . . . in my tennis shoe . . .
So, here are the 2 questions on my little quiz:
How many downward-facing dogs will have to do to find my center? And, how many hours will I have to sit and rub my blanky against my cheek to find my happy place again?
Photo courtesy Consumerfriendly
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