Ok party people, weekend’s over. Back to work.
That’s the bad news.
The good news?
And the other good news is that thanks to my lovely, compassionate and brave friends who decided to reveal their own garage, quonset, farmyard and basement rubble woes as part of Friday’sHot Hot Redneck Mess prize alert post not only have I discovered that I am not alone in the complete disaster that I have lurking outside my window, I got a few giggles, snorts and solid advice in the process.
And because each hoarding, junk/treasure collecting, farmyard cleanup, old school papers, naked husband painting in the garage, used toilet story is unique and different just like you, I decided the fair way to select the winner of the challenge was to put the names in my dirty Carhart cap and leave the winner up to chance and those Junk Gods I’ve been praying to.
And it looks like the Junk Gods have a favorite because they chose Holly. Sweet Holly who volunteered to come out to the ranch and hold my hand as I gently, boss, I mean, urge husband to give up the three wheeler, dirt bike, jet ski, pail full of nuts and bolts, washing machine, five of the six coolers, ball of twine, his old batman pajamas from the third grade etc, etc, etc…
Holly I know we are not close neighbors so we might have to postpone that trip, but I am going to tweak your next piece of advice a bit and talk to husband about paying me $25 per hour for my time on this project.
Then I’m going to close my eyes and wait for him to pick me up and drop me in the water tank.
Congratulations Holly, you have your choice of the following three matted 8X10 metallic prints to hang on your wall as a reminder that outside of the Veeder Ranch garage, North Dakota has some beautiful sights. Let me know if you’d like me to include a couple pairs of ice skates, a broken ladder or a rabbit cage at firstname.lastname@example.org.
Ok, now for more of the bad news.
I didn’t actually touch the damn garage this weekend.
Don’t judge me, I had a higher calling.
We went camping instead.
We had to, I mean as much as I wanted to spend the entire 90 degree weekend hauling microwaves and washing machines and lawn ornaments out of the garage and to the garbage pit, sweat dripping down my back and pooling into a nice little puddle at the top of my butt crack, it was our annual Christmas in July with husband’s family, and well, I had no choice.
I had to go. I couldn’t let the in-laws down.
I mean, this little girl was waiting for me and what type of iron hearted woman would I be if I rejected this face?
And who would want to miss these moments of heart melting sweetness?
Besides, they were counting on me to soak in the lake, make a mass batch of margaritas, take a boat ride, try my balance on a massive floating log and, due to a miscalculated body launch, accidentally show the entire crew of in-laws my snow white butt cheeks, tube with my little niece, eat hot dogs, and hang out with the chickens…
Yup. The chickens went camping.
And I think that my in-laws and I might be the only people in the world who can utter that phrase with complete truth and honesty.
Now, I am not sure where to go from here except to promise you I’ll get to the garage project this evening…
right after I write up my contract, locate my water wings, deliver papers to husband, and pull my ass out of the water tank…
And, you know, right after I finish the laundry.
Happy Monday lovelies!!!