The folks up the road are having a garage sale, and Diego is all over it. Every single time someone drives up the road, he charges to the door, I let him out, and he expresses his outrage at their trespass, which isn’t – of course – trespass at all. Then, we repeat the same thing when they leave, as – inevitably – leave they must. This is the third day of intense activity above my house, and yes, I am a little over it (gross understatement). If it weren’t as humid as it is, or raining, as it has been for much of the last three days, it wouldn’t be such a drag; Diego could then just stay outside, doing his King of the Hill act with my blessing. Sigh.
Deep breaths, and – soon, soon it will all be over.
They’ve also been getting dumpsters delivered on a regular basis throughout the weekend and today. Diego can hear that truck from about 2 miles away, the little dear. Small annoyance, I know, but omg, will you please just shut up, already, dog?
In the U.K. they have car boot sales, where people load up the trunks of their cars, congregating in parking lots or around village squares where they unload their junk for pounds and pence. I like that idea, but more than that, I love the term ‘boot’ for the trunk of a car. I know boot as footwear, of course, but I also knew a woman my freshman year of college who called barfing booting – which was an interesting regionalism I’d previously never heard. I’ve never been able to use boot in that way, because when I am nauseous, the charms of saying ‘I’m about to boot’ disappear, but in sharing it with you, I finally get to use it, kinda, sorta. Boot. Heeheehee.
The garage sale and Diego’s enthusiasms have worn me right out. It’s time for bed.
