Follow that car . . . just kidding.

I didn’t find a Picasso at the Goodwill yesterday, but there was a 3-D poodle picture and assorted big-eye prints. JazzHands and I did quite well actually. I can’t wait for some library patron to say to me, “Hey, that’s my old sweater!”

When I began to assemble Rusty the Wheelbarrow, I realized I was missing a very important part--actually two parts--the handles. Unless they were telescoping handles, there's no way they could have fit in the box containing the hardware. Why didn't I see that? Why didn't my mom see that? Or the cashier? So today I had the embarrassing task of walking into the garden center with my receipt and explaining my dilemma. I had considered blaming my imaginary husband, Carl. At the last minute I pinned the rap on my mom and told the guy that my mom bought the wheelbarrow and forgot to get the handles, which is true; she paid for it as a Christmas gift, but I was standing right there. I was feeling pretty bad about blaming her when I noticed on my way out that the car parked next to mine had a bumper sticker that said "I don't smoke crack, I lick it." And there was a 20-something guy getting in on the drivers side with his MOM getting in on the passenger side. I wonder if she had any idea that sticker was even on his car. Suddenly I felt like the best child in the world.

Later today I spray painted my headboard. That stuff smells pretty strong. I guess I should have worn a mask because I don’t feel so well and the walls are bleeding baby ducks. Thank God they’re quiet because I’m exhausted.