Here is a photo of some farm machinery.
I am dangerously close to a three and half day weekend. I only have to get through four measly hours of work, before I experience sweet, sweet freedom. The weird thing about it, is that the girls will probably be busy almost every weekend night too. So, I won't just have time away from work, I could really do whatever I wanted. I haven't had this kind of regular free time since I was twenty-six years old. Even though you couldn't tell from the last couple of weeks' posts, I'm not really big on going out. I could never be one of those mid-life crises women who turns forty, gets an ass-hat tattoo and a pierced belly button, paints themselves orange with quick tan, tries to dress like a twenty year old, and starts going out to clubs every weekend night. Believe me, I couldn't pull it off when I was twenty, it would be especially pathetic now. Oh, what the hell, let me just illustrate exactly what I'm talking about:
Tonight after dropping the girls off at their individual events, I called my friend K. to talk about what I was going to do in the garden while she was gone for the weekend. She was at The Dublin Underground with some friends, so instead of rudely chatting on the phone, I stopped down for an hour to drink a delicious Royal Crown Cola. I've had kind of a mellow but persistent migraine for some reason the last few days, and so I wasn't about to drink any alcohol.
I joined K. and her friends and was briefed not to refer to our one friend's new love interest as her "boyfriend", seein's how their relationship was a little new for that. At one point, the guy sitting next to me, who I had only met briefly once before, got up to go to the bathroom. I tried to stand-up to let him out, but my sandals hooked together. In my defense, I had that migraine and they make me even more spacey and less coordinated than normal. I worked really hard at righting myself, but all it did was make me fall in slow motion, so it took me about an hour and a half to tumble out of the booth and hit my knee so hard on the floor, that all the men sitting at the bar turned around to see me eat the dirty, bar carpet.
My friend K. was laughing so hard, she was crying and had to wait to calm down before she went up to get another drink. When she could breathe again, she said, "Churlita, I love you."
To which, I answered, "You're just saying that, because I make you look so good in comparison."