We got about six inches of snow last night. This morning, I got up, bundled up and swept a path off the back deck. Geriatric Poodle watched me sweep a path and then, after careful consideration, peed on the deck, right next to the door. Righty-o.
I then moved on to the driveway, where my car still resides, as I haven't brought myself to clean out my garage since I moved in six months ago. It's days like this when I wonder what could have possibly been more important than making the garage a comfy home for my Honda. It's not like I was busy curing cancer or ministering to lepers. Alas.
So, all in all, I spent 50 minutes cleaning off my car and shoveling the drive. I don't mind cleaning off the car. But the shoveling? Well, I kept wondering when somebody was going to show up to take care of this mess. I mean, come on - someone is obviously slacking off if I'm the one responsible for cleaning the drive.
Oh, wait. I'm the homeowner. Right.
By the time I was done, I was dripping with sweat, like a really good workout. I walked in the house, stripped down and left my clothes on the floor in a pile. Because I live alone and I can and I can leave them there for a couple of days, too. Life is good.
Tonight, I heard Foxie Doxie making some very, very happy squeaks and grunts. I found him spralled across my pile of clothes, chewing a Nylabone, his head resting on my very stinky jogbra. Evidently, it doesn't get any better than that.
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