I’m fairly sure blogging comes under social media.  Even though I’m also fairly sure that no one looks at my writings but me.  During one of my insomnia saturated nights recently I was thinking that even though this is easier than a three-ring notebook journal (so much neater than scratching out scrawlings and leaving holes in the paper & my lap if I was really incensed)…………..it has its drawbacks.  Like, it’s not private.  Does that mean I can’t talk about flatulence and bustiers?  I’ll have to think about that one.

So why am I doing this?  Ease and ego?  I’m not really sure.  I really will have to think about that one too.

So maybe I should exclude personal information?  Hmmmmmmmm.  So maybe I should go back and remove my children’s names?  And my street address?  And telephone?  I’ll leave my social security number just for I.D. purposes and credibility.  That should do it.

Okay, I’m good to go now…………….The rainy season has begun here.  Big thunder-boomer this morning.  All the Wolfhounds don’t want to go out side……….but I’ll make sure they do.  Their pee puddles are enough to leave a tide line.  And their poo’s are enough to put a VW into a skid.  Yep, they’re going outside into the rain.  I love the gamesmanship of the house cats.  They sit by the glass door preening and dry while the damp hounds glower at them.  Why are the cats surprised and indignant when a passing Wolfhound flattens them with a paw?  I would do the same thing.

Now on to Patrice.

My uniform of choice here on the farm has been the same for years.  Over-alls. I like them because they are like banquet pants with a lot more pockets.  You do however have to develop the art of not dropping one of the shoulder straps into the toilet when you sit down……..kind of damp afterwards for a while.  I also don’t like ones that fit properly.  I like them too long and too big.  My prerequisite is that they need to be long enough to fold over the cuffs 3X’s.  I can’t do painter’s over-alls (they show the dirt too much) and it’s almost impossible to find train conductor overalls anymore (although I do like them because the vertical stripes make me look thinner—–always a plus).

I have a tendency to wear my over-alls for several days at a time (several days+).  So at night I hang them by one of the shoulder straps on my bedroom door for the next morning.  They start to take on their own form.  The knees don’t hang out completely, there’s like a 130 degree bend left in them when they’re hanging.  There’s an old lady slump in the back above the worn butt cheek marks.

Awhile ago my daughters (first names excluded—–although their Social Security numbers are listed below) and I were watching TV while sitting on the bed.  We were looking at my over-alls hanging on the door and they looked like a little old woman all by herself…………she needed a name all her own.  Hence Patrice was born.

No matter how many times I wake up in the middle of the night, Patrice always startles me like some decapitated old woman looming by the bedroom door coming to get me while I sleep.  I suppose I could hang her someplace else, but what would be the fun?  All of her pockets have their set accessories assigned to them.  The left has a handkerchief (for post-menopausal schvitz) and jackknife.  The right has my worry stone and receipts and stuff I pick up off the ground like can tabs for recycling and other things.  The right pocket can be dangerous if Patrice hasn’t been laundered for a while.  Bib pockets have pen(s), more important receipts & stuff, the ever-necessary readers, hair ties, earrings, things that should be kept cleaner (of sorts)……………it’s advisable to approach the right pocket with caution.

My daughter just reminded me of a dramatic scar I have on my right forearm.  It’s no longer raised and purple, it’s now white and concave.  But———–it was as a result of Patrice’s right-pocket-syndrome……………or maybe it was because I put a pair goat hoof shears in that pocket point up and then got bounced around the back of a pick-up truck on a work-day with our Hunt Club.  Either way, quite often very scary things come from that pocket.  And Patrice knows it……

Well now you’ve met Patrice.  Don’t turn your back on her.  She’s crafty.