Bang!

I've spent most of my free minutes over the last week getting my house clean, and I love the results. I love the smell. I love being able to run across the wood floor in my socks and slide a full ten feet before coming to a halt.

So it should have come as no surprise to me on Friday morning when I rounded a corner and couldn't stop until I banged my face into the woodwork.

My thoughts went, roughly, thus:

1. Ouch!


2. Sh!t!


3. Oh, great, now I'm going to get a black eye and everyone will assume I'm a battered woman.


4. I should put some ice on this.


So I iced it, and for the record, I didn't get a black eye, just a little bruise underneath my eyebrow. It looks as though I made an ill-advised choice of eye shadow, used it on my left eye, then came to my senses before doing my right.

And another thing...

...I don't need a "meme" to tell me; I know what kind of nuts I am. I just organized the 200-odd books in my dining room according to the Dewey decimal system.

Because, you know, it’s not like I have anything more important to do.

(I'm just glad that my other thousands of books are upstairs in boxes, safe from my ministrations.)

If anyone wants a bunch of Scientific American magazines from 2002-2003 and/or all of the Penzey Spice catalogs (with recipes) from 2003-present, speak now or forever hold your peas. I'll be putting them out with the recycling in 10 days unless someone comes to get them first.