Sight: Pumba has been glued to the window in Mary B.'s old room, watching birds and dogs outside.
Sound: Birds chirping and kids screaming on loud four-wheelers in the woods.
Touch: 60 Degrees and warm sunshine.
Taste: Ah, sweet tea. How I've missed it!
Smell: Five oil refineries within five miles of my mom's house. Still stinkin'.
and, a bonus FYI:
Fortunate timing: I missed the entire transit strike!
Unfortunate timing: I struck a squirrel in transit. :( It just ran under my car, thumped twice, flopped once and went to climb the big acorn tree in the sky.
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6 comments:
Clearly the squirrel was suicidal, it happens around the holidays.
After you hit the squirrel did several Arkansasians fight over who got to eat it.
mmm... squirrel gumbo... come on, someone stop me. EB, erase these comments, I'm just bored (and slightly tipsy) and can't help myself. By the way, I lost my "beanie". If you could bring me back a sqirrel fur one, that would be great. My head is so cold.
Ah, home. Pumba was the sweetest house guest possible. You know what we forgot? We forgot to bring Ronnie's share of the EB bunnies. Again.
give up the recipe!
I literally crave sweet tea all the time. Sometimes, I dream about it and wake up really thirsty. Yum.
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