Today’s’ post will be a short one; I ate some bad yogurt (truly) this morning and am feeling a little poisoned. Walking straight seems to be a challenge. Shut up, all of you. First of all, it is only noon. Okay, that doesn’t work for those of you who have seen me open a beer at 10 am but I swear it is not due to alcohol. I have been a non-drinker now for about two weeks as my new medicine, Arava, prohibits imbibing. It carries a serious risk of liver enzyme elevation so as much as I enjoyed tippling a glass or ten (you think I’m joking), I cannot. I’m actually embracing this teetotalitarism. I’ve lost ten pounds; I remember the pages I read in my book at night; and I am hangover free. Now, if I could just avoid corrupt cultures (yogurt cultures, that is.)
Pint-sized has started calling me “Ma.” That whole Gram part is so last century. Being called Ma makes me want to grab a rifle and go squirrel hunting and cook up some vittles over a fire just after I make a new batch of moonshine. Since we have chickens running around the yard and a cement pond, it’s not too far a stretch.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my head is swimming away and I must catch it before it is gone forever and I become a ghost story. She ate bad yogurt, lost her head, and still wanders the farm searching for it ‘til this very day.
Happy Thanksgiving to those of you heading out of town. Have a great one!