|how I imagine a more realistic Santa|
So when he got me later more toward sunset to peek out our bedroom window at a couple of deer in the yard, I couldn't help pointing out that totally proves my theory- Deer do not care about his scent when he goes out hunting. There he was, out there smelling like a sweaty old guy, gas fumes, chainsaw exhaust fumes, car fumes, whatever else he was doing, did the deer care? Nope. They smell this stuff every day, this is normal around here for them, and it didn't stop the deer from coming right into our back yard. All these fancy scent free soaps and fox and doe pee is pretty expensive, and the more he tries, the lower the results.
Maybe some of that sank in. He's skipping his special shower this morning, eating a normal breakfast with spicy sausage (he usually gets after me for giving him breath that the deer will smell), just casually watching the weather channel and eating in his camo bathrobe before he gets all camo'd up to go walk Mirkwood with a bow. That's his braincation time, leave the ratrace behind and enjoy a commune with nature. It's as close to a real break as he ever gets from real life hammering away, and it doesn't last very long.
I'm going to make that boy an apple pie while he's out. He's been good giving up ice cream, and bite for bite he'll get much less sweet (I can control the sugar) and more nutrition out of apple pie. He's agreed to let me help train him down on the carbs until he gets his fasting glucose down.
|I would hand out nap coupons for Christmas if I could|
I have very little else floating around my head. I still don't have that new area rug down yet. Plans have changed in the blurs around us so many times that I've decided to wait till Christmas is officially over. I've reached a level in life where cleaning a house both before and after an event is ridiculously challenging and taxing, so as long as I'm caught up on regular household chores, great. I just can't handle a brand new area rug being walked all over on a wet week by a bunch of people who probably won't take their shoes off, no matter how jolly the weekend is.
It's just now hitting 5:30 and @bonenado has already started his chipmunk-squirrel-hamster type bustling around, so it's time to get on the ball and put on my Mrs. Claus mask.
Plz to note the people in the above memes have so far still made it through 2016, and they are frickin' old. Not all hope is lost, guys.
You never hear this on a Christmas music station...