Nothing like the fresh feeling of rising on a Saturday morning. I actually have this weird desire to get up earlier on Saturdays, like I have to cram in all--the--play--time--possible, because Monday is only a mere 48 hours away. But wait! What's this? A three-day weekend!? It's almost too much. I going insane-o with joy, frantic for fun, what to do--should I read a book, watch a movie, cook breakfast, call a friend, go get a nice cream, take Emily shopping, go for a walk, eat something yummy? My Uncle Dave's hot tub should be functional today, and it's got fountains and lights that change color! Ohh yeah! I'm drooling on my keyboard.
Emily has been talking to plants lately. She rescued a couple of smallish ones from the sale rack at Safeway the other day. It started out as a cute thing, talking to them in front of me to make me roll my eyes. But I was in the bathroom this morning when I heard the sultry voice from the kitchen: "Oh, you're all so tall! Look at you, you've grown two inches since I got you. You're so pretty." It's a side of her I hadn't considered, and it's not bad...just, creepy. What do you think? Being friends with plants a legitimate practice, or a hokey, anthropomorphic quirk--signaling the same kind of mentality typical of those who make their dogs wear sweaters?
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