Ya know, I've been praying for rain; for the new plantings/transfers and so I'd be forced to stop working in the yard to stay inside and do a few things that need to be done here...like clean the house, update Tonic, and fix the myriad aesthetic things wrong with my new website. But I didn't mean "rain on Derby Day" for heaven sake! 6:30 a.m. Derby Day - pouring. The dog was most unhappy and, as usual, blamed me for the wetness she had to endure as she trolled the yard for a dry place to....make wet. How rude of me! Even the cat, the indoor cat, seemed somewhat put off as rain sprayed through the screen door and rudely slapped him in his little kitty face. My fault, of course (he's in cahoots with the dog). How rude of me!
Still, this is a welcome respite from dirty nails, aching back, and nosy neighbors. Don't get me wrong, I love my neighbors - I'm very blessed actually - but I don't always want to talk to them. Especially if I'm looking my very worst in ball cap, uni-boob i.e. sports bra, and fat-dimpled, white-as-snow legs. My ass stuck up in the air should be enough to keep their tongues wagging without actually talking to me. Then again, maybe that's why they talk to me - not because my fat ass is attractive but because they want to know the person who's stupid enough to hike the double bun-ed wide-load to the sky instead of bending at the knees like a normal person.
Whatever.
All this to say - I'm putting my money (if I had any, which I don't) on Eight Belles. The only filly running for the roses today. So few fillies make it to "The Show" that, when one does, us similar gendered humans must support her. The jury's still out on Hillary though....
Still, this is a welcome respite from dirty nails, aching back, and nosy neighbors. Don't get me wrong, I love my neighbors - I'm very blessed actually - but I don't always want to talk to them. Especially if I'm looking my very worst in ball cap, uni-boob i.e. sports bra, and fat-dimpled, white-as-snow legs. My ass stuck up in the air should be enough to keep their tongues wagging without actually talking to me. Then again, maybe that's why they talk to me - not because my fat ass is attractive but because they want to know the person who's stupid enough to hike the double bun-ed wide-load to the sky instead of bending at the knees like a normal person.
Whatever.
All this to say - I'm putting my money (if I had any, which I don't) on Eight Belles. The only filly running for the roses today. So few fillies make it to "The Show" that, when one does, us similar gendered humans must support her. The jury's still out on Hillary though....
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