I stood back and surveyed my handiwork.
The sofas are decent, but they are hidden beneath throws in an attempt to prevent the dogs turning them black. The throws are therefore black instead; each one bears a tide mark at exactly the same height off the floor, which is where the dogs run along the sofas rubbing themselves on them. I considered turning the throws round, then realised they look exactly the same on the other side. I must have already done this once before :-(
I looked at the carpet. It's cream. Honestly, who puts a cream carpet down in a living area? It was doomed the second we moved in. Three dogs and three kids later and it isn't cream any more. Now it has various dark circles of dubious origin dotted all the way across it and I despair every time I look at it.
Oh well. I glanced at my watch. 6.15. That left a quarter of an hour to tidy me up, and I was probably more in need of it than the house. I was just about to scamper up the stairs to wash, stick on some make-up, drag a brush through my hair (which had been scrunched up in a ball since I'd washed it that morning and had therefore dried crumpled and wild), and pull on a dress and maybe even paint my nails when both dogs suddenly erupted at the door as a car pulled into the drive.
Oh no! They were early.
Two minutes later I opened the door to a vision of loveliness: perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect skin, perfect make-up, elegant cream blouse tucked in to a swirly peachy silky skirt that really belonged in an advert for hair shampoo (the ones where the models leave the salon and swing their hair about and everything else flows out around them in a perfect arc). Beneath all of this were the highest pair of heels I'd ever seen (which made me acutely aware of my knackered dirty old flipflops). There was not a hair out of place, or a smudge, a sweat-stain or a shiny bit of skin to be seen.
My jeans, by comparison, although clean on that morning, by that point in the afternoon were bearing the all-too-obvious evidence of Poppy's joyful excitement at finding a muddy puddle on our walk that morning and her wish to tell me all about it, along with Ted's desire to sit on my lap so he could lick my nose and tell me how much he loved me. As a result, my face was shiny- I know that for certain because I checked the mirror when I ran into the kitchen to get drinks. As for my t-shirt, well, it definitely had the kind of small stains on it whose origins had long since passed into the mists of time (where it is better to leave them).
In short, I felt like a bag lady. A twelve-years-older-than-the-vision-of-loveliness bag lady.
I have seen the look she gave me on another female face in recent weeks- it was uncannily like the expression on the face of the nymphomaniac consultant who set M's broken wrist back in the spring when I accompanied him to the final check-up after a long day working out on a hill. I had failed to change or brush my hair then too.
M brushes up well, and always looks elegant and debonair for work. I, on the other hand, look fine first thing in the morning, and would have passed muster had I had time to do some necessary repair work, but as it was I would say I definite gave Farmer Giles a run for his money. She probably thought I was some kind of gone-to-seed-and-hired-out-of-pity scruffy inept house keeper.
After she'd gone I apologised to M for giving the impression to his new colleague that he was married to someone desperately in need of a bath and clean clothes.
Don't be ridiculous (he said), you'd look beautiful with a cow-pat on your head.
All things considered that might be an improvement....
Sad news on the Grass Snake front- she died last night. I can't say I'm surprised. As many of you said yesterday, the damage to her tail was so severe. I suspect an infection would have taken hold eventually. Hopefully those eggs in the compost heap will hatch.
Moth-wise, I've had a Small Rebellion Today. Usually, I record each and every moth with painstaking attention to detail, but today when I lifted the lid on the two hundred or so who were in there, half the buggers flew out, and then another quarter followed every time I lifted an egg box (not sure the maths works, but you know what I mean).
So, I have decided, from now on I am going to only record the new ones. I feel surveyed-out at the moment and just want to enjoy my moths without exhausting myself over them. Enjoying wildlife for wildlife's sake is a Nice Thing To Do.
Here are a selection of today's Mothy Folk.....
|Small Scallop (new one for me)|
And there I shall say goodnight, having accidentally left you with a Thought For The Day :-)
Have a great evening,