34
I just painted my fingernails "Disco Ball" sparkle. For as long as I can remember, I've been a sucker for the sparkle-shiny things in life.
Sometimes though, all the glitter and bang catches up with you.
Thankfully, I stocked up on peace and quiet this weekend, perhaps a part of me knew I'd be drawn to the glittery nail polish during a Walgreen's milk run. In any case, I've spent the last day with a book in my hand and a baby on my arm. I read and he napped and everyone was happy.
I also had three "Everything But The Kitchen Sink" cookies. I would have had eleven, but the stinky boys took them on the boat and ate them all while sunburning on the lake for five hours.
Somehow I ended up with about 120 tortillas and zero churro cupcakes. Maybe there's a way to make cupcakes out of tortillas?
I didn't take any pictures of my weekend retreat in the mountains. I was too busy reading my book and mourning the short life of the cookies.
I never said I was a photographer. I said I was a sparkle lover, and now, maybe I'll say I'm a writer.
The thing about writers is, sometimes they don't know how to end a story. Sometimes they've had a busy weekend doing nothing, and they come home and wax poetic about fingernail polish. Then, they start to worry about the bountiful deliciousness of 120 tortillas and what they are going to do with them. In desperation, they go to their photos, hoping for inspiration.
They open the photo file and find a picture of someone who, yet again, does NOT live with them. Apparently people have a fondness for computer web cams.
Perhaps the best way to end a post about tortillas and fingernail polish, stolen cookies and mountain retreats, is to post a random picture. A random ending to a random post.
Behold! Derrick's cousin. Person number TWO who has taken a picture of themselves on my computer without my knowledge. (Is this the cool thing to do? If so, why haven't I been informed?):
