Can someone please tell me the correct first line to "Help Me, Rhonda"? I can't stop singing, "Well, since she put me down there've been owls pooin' in my head." I can sometimes manage "owls spewin' in my head," but that's as far as I can get away from it.
I had to go to WalMart to get the humane mousetraps, since Home Despot didn't have any. They had lots that told me they would kil the mousies ded. I did not want to kil the mousies ded, I wanted something that would not hurt my dog even if she managed to get into it. I hate WalMart. It smells of plastic and despair (and, briefly, fresh cilantro: thanks, dysosmia!). But I got the right mousetraps, and now we will see whether the wee bastard will go in them or not.
I'm oscillating, now that markgritter is home for two whole days, between wanting to nest on the couch and do blessed nothing for two whole days and wanting to get stuff done while he has puppy time, so that it's not hanging over my head for the week to come.
The nice thing about submitting to adult markets (ahem: grown-up markets) is that you don't have to watch for Sneaky Jesus the way you do with kids' markets. I hate that, reading through guidelines that sound sensible, and wham, suddenly they're pushing Jesus at you, and He looks about as thrilled with it as you do. Little kids do not have to have Jesus with breakfast, lunch, and dinner just because they're kids! (I know, I know. I say this every time I try to find a new picture book market. But it's true every time.)