Okay, that's not quite the truth.
What is the truth is that life around here at Chez Quinn has been hectic to say the least.
The BFF is getting married Saturday, and the Urchins and I are all in it. Youngest Urchin is in freakout mode. She cannot do the wedding walk and toss petals at the same time. So now it's become this huge
My mother-in-law had her cancer surgery, and it looks like no radiation treatment will be necessary. Hooray!
My father-in-law has finally gotten over his month long pneumonia, but it put his heart back into atrial fibrillation. He had his heart converted with the paddles of life/AED last week. Receiving an electro shock while awake. This is the 6th time they've had to do it. He's still recovering, but his heart is back in rhythm.
Back to school has been bumpier than usual. The three year olds are still crying. My job is now officially called Snot Sweat and Tears. Decontamination showers will be installed outside the door to my house shortly.
Youngest Urchin is having her back to school separation issues, which twists the knife in me but good as they say.
Oldest Urchin loves school but has enormous amounts of homework and wants to start playing an instrument.
Lots of other goings on have been taking over my life, but I've bored you enough already. Time to dive back into the crazy.
And here it is.
While camping for two weeks this summer, at our first stop, I found an example of the importance of the proper use of commas. This sign was posted at the first campground we stayed in.
|Way to insult your guests, there, campground.|
This pole, with its insulting sign, is secretly a portal to hell. Why? Because it smelled like goat. Yes. Goat. And no I didn't sniff the pole. It emanated goat smell. And as anyone who has watched the episode Red Rum from The Mentalist knows, Cho, my favorite character, has declared goats are of the devil. And I believe him. (I can't find that particular clip anywhere on the web, so here's a different equally funny Cho clip. Just pretend it's the other one.)
Anywho, back to the pole. We had to pass it on our walk to the pool. And every time I came near it, there was the smell of a thousand goats. But the horrific stench wasn't everywhere, like when a skunk gets flattened on the roadside. No, this was in one specific spot. Two steps in any direction from said spot, and the smell...disappeared.
Me walking, stops. To the Man: What is that smell?
The Man: What smell?
Me: The one that smells like the insides of a hundred goats in the middle of the desert.
The Man, gives me the look he saves for when he really thinks I've gone off reservation: Yeah, I don't smell anything.
Me: Come here. I'll watch the girls. Just stand right here and tell me that stench wouldn't knock a buzzard off a shit wagon.
The Man, vaguely standing in spot in middle of road where I placed him: That's Epoxy or something.
Me: You are so wrong.
The Man staunchly refused to recognize the imminent peril our family was in and instead made his way blithely with the Urchins to the pool. But I knew. I knew there was evil emanating from that pole. It was only because of the constant vigilance on my part that we weren't sucked down into the bowels of Hell every time we passed that bad boy. And thus we were able to continue our vacation as I, the unsung hero, herded the young 'uns past that pole with all due haste.
So to my family I say, "You're welcome."
And since we survived the devil's telephone pole, I was able to go on and have other crazed camping adventures which I will reveal in my next post.
Until next time, Citizens! Stay away from goat reeking devil poles!