Murder on Her Mind
by Bella Rum
The redbud trees are blooming once again. I miss mine, but my neighbor has one that I’m enjoying.
Yesterday, when I stepped into the shower, one of those hairy-looking, hundred-legged creatures was waiting for me. It’s that time of year again. I hate them. There’s nothing worse than a gross, skittering, scurrying, hurrying thing. And to have it in the shower with you!?!! Where you’re barefooted!?!! And bare everything else. And they move at mach speed!! I can’t believe how fast they move.
H swears that he will wipe them and all their kind from the face of the Earth (our bathroom). The job will be easier if he finds their entrance point first, but don’t you love a man who promises to eradicate an entire species just for you. Girls still like that kind of thing.
Our bathroom is the only room they inhabit. My theory is that they’re coming up the drains, but H says no. That’s a myth, and then he followed with some stuff about basic plumbing. Centipedes have only one thing to recommend them; they eat spiders. The battle continues.
Thursday, we made a day trip to Smithfield, checked out a couple of antique shops and stopped for lunch at a diner on the way home. It was a beautiful day. I found another fox-hunting print that I liked. On Friday, I found more pictures in some of our unpacked boxes. Can you believe we still have unpacked boxes? It’s been almost a year. Anyway, the newly-purchased hunt print went in the office.
Last week, in a store across town, I found two pieces of art (one is huge) to hang in our bathroom. They’re both inexpensive, mass-produced things, but pretty and cheerful and will do fine in there: a huge beach/boating scene and a sailboat scene. Cheap means that I don’t have to worry about the humidity harming them.
Our bathroom is the next room to paint. After that, only the powder room and laundry room will remain unscathed. I’d like to get them all done before we hit the one-year mark (May 28), but I don’t like my chances. The weather is warming up, the grass is growing, and someone is dying to put down mulch and weed flower beds and plant new shrubs and flowers. Once he throws himself into yard work, I will have not even a slim prayer of keeping him inside long enough to paint a tiny closet, let alone an entire room.
Not much going on around here. I’m resorting to writing about painting again.
Oh, yeah. Taxes. It’s time. We’ve begun… No need to bother with these things until the first week of April. Right?