Could I just please go through The Change and be done with it? Every time I think that my ovaries have yodeled their last yodel, I get a little surprise. A periodic [pun intended] reminder that I Am Not In Charge.
For most of my life I have had PMS in one form or another: tenderness, bloating, weepiness, and the occasional desire to kick something. Around the time of my 40th birthday, I started having cramps, too. [I really should have bought stock in Midol.] And while yes, I am thankful to still have all the original equipment in the fruitful-and-multiply department, I am impatiently curious as to when the warranty is scheduled to expire.
I had it all planned out: ovaries give up the ghost, LittleBit graduates, I move to a cottage and start greening one or both thumbs, Brother Right shows up, we live happily and unfruitfully ever after. Sounds like a plan, right?
But instead I have these two mischievous Heidi’s who persist in yodeling Indian Love Call to a bunch of deaf shepherds. [As opposed to a bunch of Def Leppards.]
So while I am in aggravated mode, I have decided to put this crankiness to good use. First, I ran an idea past a friend with solid knowledge of military culture. Then I asked Middlest’s permission. I will be calling her STBX’s commanding officer. I spent yesterday fasting and praying so that I would say the right things and ask the right questions. It will be interesting to see if political correctness has entirely undermined the military establishment, or if the powers-that-be are both willing and able to exercise moral suasion on that miscreant who is living in sin in the married housing to which my daughter entitles him. And which my tax dollars pay for. I wonder what the 21st century equivalent of keelhauling is?
Casting about for a happier topic. I put roughly 3” on the stealth project yesterday, and maybe 3” on Secondborn’s birthday gift. I am pleased with the former, and I think I will be frogging the latter and starting again on larger needles. I like the pattern on both.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!