So. Much. Fun.

Yesterday was golden. Just-enough knitting. With cashmere. That project is set aside for today, as I am not sure if it is something for one of my dolls (which means that I would not consider working on it, to be breaking the Sabbath) or something that will go in my Etsy shop if the finished object matches the idea in my head.

Lorelai has fresh oil and a clean air filter. She is breathing more clearly than I am, though I am far better than on Friday.

Thursday night, on my way to the temple, I picked up a Happy Meal. The toy was a tiny Fairy Barbie (or maybe vice versa). I called Fourthborn yesterday to ask if I could bring it by on my way to dinner with my friend. I think what I said was something like this, "Hi, can I stop by for just a minute to bring you a Barbie Happy Meal toy and yell at the dog?" She was still snorting and snickering when I got there.

The dog is none too bright. I think she might be related to the golden lab dachsund mix we had briefly when the girls were little. We named that dog Mensa, but mostly we just called him Densa. Golden lab body. Dachsund legs. Great big golden lab head. Little bitty dachsund brain rattling around in it. I think Harley is just about that smart. Great name. R-e-a-l-l-y dumb dog.

Had the best sweet and sour chicken in my life last night, at a little Thai restaurant. The chicken was not breaded, and there were copious amounts of vegetables, and mine was cold long before I finished it, because of the talking and laughing and reminiscing. But still incredibly tasty.

Definitely going back there, quite possibly with Brother Sushi for our postponed March dinner later this month.

Funny moment: her phone went off (it was her husband, one of the dearest men in this world) and she handed it to me, asking “Wanna mess with his mind? Just say ‘It’s Lynn’.” Which of course I did, and he first got extremely confused and then delighted, at which point I handed him back to his beloved.

Confusing men. It’s one of the things I do best.

The dance last night was a blast. I love Latin music. Doesn’t matter if I’m dancing to it, or just doing a quiet little boogie in my chair. Love the stuff. I danced last night to “Good Golly Miss Molly” in Spanish. And sat out “Jailhouse Rock,” ditto. Got in some merengue and some cumbia, visited with friends, collected a couple of hugs, caught up my buddy M on the dating situation.

He is pleased that there are now only two petri dishes in the experiment. I told him that I had gotten my fishing license. He asked why. I told him that the new guy had posted on FB that nobody was getting a ring until she had gone fishing with him at least once. He (my buddy) said that I don’t fight fair at all (and he approves heartily).

The big news at church is that I am now the CTR4 teacher. That means I have a small flock of four-year-olds to corral confuse teach. In theory that means seven short people; in reality, most weeks, it will mean three bright, charming, and oh-please-let-them-be-tractable little girls. I think this calling is probably more for me than it is for the kids. But the funny thing is, I am actually looking forward to it.

After being sustained by the ward members (in sacrament meeting) and set apart (after church), I have come home long enough to grab some lunch and prepare to take my temple clothing over to Secondborn’s, along with a bag of apples, there to mooch dinner and wash up my ceremonial clothing, which ought not to be seen by the heathen. Ergo, I cannot wash it at the laundromat with the rest of my clothing, and I’m insufficiently fond of hand-washing to do it here at home. Plus, I get to eat breakfast-for-dinner and visit with some of my favorite people, while contributing a little something toward the meal.