SwampMan and I spent the morning at Home Depot and then (surprise!) (sigh) Whataburger. I KNEW I shouldn’t have gone! I KNEW it, I knew it, I knew it. I shoulda stayed home but nooooooooo. The cinnamon bun was actually pretty good.
Anyway, we got home and immediately went to work putting some barbed wire about 4″ above the woven wire fence behind the neighbors’ place so that *maybe* the horse wouldn’t walk out and immediately ruin about $150 worth of fence wire in an attempt to eat the neighbors’ even pricier landscaping. The barbed wire might delay the ruination (of the fence AND flowers) by a couple of weeks so that at least we would feel a little better about it. She hasn’t been allowed in that pasture for four months now because we just never got around to putting the barbed wire up. (I keep wanting to type “bob war” like I pronounce it. Just so you know.)
I was out there in my welding gloves and welding apron, determined that I wasn’t gonna be bleeding from barbed wire cuts this time when I let the end whip up and get me on the cheek. DAMNIT! SwampMan assured me that it was just a scratch and I’d live. Purty soon I’m just going to be one big ol’ walking scar.
Afterward, we drove out to get some hot fudge sundaes at the drive through. I had forgotten completely about the scratch until I got a weird look from the drive through person and then recalled the barbed wire incident. I asked SwampMan how bad it looked. He said it twarn’t nothin’. I looked in the mirror because SwampMan’s idea of nothin’ and my idea of nothin’ are not exactly the same, and danged if it didn’t look like Halloween makeup with a long jagged scratch and rivulets of blood that had dripped down over my cheek and dried. The drive through person was probably wondering where the costume party was and, more importantly, why hadn’t she been invited?
I got home and walked inside the house to kick off my shoes and sit back in the lazy chair for a couple minutes before going grocery shopping when the phone rang. Son had already planted several hundred strawberry plants and has about 50 or so left over (that probably means 150), so he wanted me to come get ’em. Guess I’ll put the ol’ shoes back on and run outside and try to make a bed for ’em before dark.