There was real live sun this afternoon, something there hasn’t been a lot of lately, so I spread a blanket on the grass and did a brief Vitamin D-gathering session, the chores actually having been completed for once.
About three minutes into my semi-slumber came a cry from the north: “Oh, my God!” Sounded like a twelve-year-old. I’ve heard it before, but I’ve not been inclined to check out its origin. Still, there’s something disconcerting about this sort of expostulation, even though it was fairly unlikely (though not completely impossible) that I had motivated it by my resemblance to an albino walrus.
So I had to listen to the entire conversation, which turned out to be older child threatening younger child with something along the lines of “Wait until Mom sees this mess!” Mom did eventually enter the thread, and she was not pleased. Or so it seemed; after a couple of sentences, the hitherto-unheard sound of a lawn mower next door drowned her out, and eventually I stretched, pulled a few weeds within easy reach, folded up my blanket (not especially neatly) and went back into the house to scrape up something for dinner.