Couldn’t think of a post title.

Really, AmeliaJake, what was our first clue?

Okay, guys, I probably could have come up with something, but I’m in the blahs and my tummy is a little upset. Not much, mind you, but I’m going to have to dilute the nasal drainage stuff that has wound up in my stomach with something. Oh, what should it be? I suppose tasty would be a good adjective, albeit perhaps not the one wiser heads would suggest.

Ah, but speaking of tasty, I did have a nice lasagna supper with my cousins at The Village View Bed & Breakfast in Howe, Indiana. They come up yearly to Shipshewana, Middlebury and this year added Winona Lake. Anyway, I think this is the third year they have stayed at The Village View, and I joined them for Monday evening.

It IS a very nice place; the first year they came, I showed Mother the webpage and she agreed that it was tasteful and not overdone. And let me tell you Mother had her standards. I remember we remarked the owner used an old sewing machine stand for a vanity and that it worked out well.

See:

taken from photo included on Village View site

Since remarking on my stomach, I have used a package of Alka-Seltzer Cold Orange Zest tablets and I think I’m perking up . . . Sorry about the minutiae of achy talk, but with gallbladder operations reduced to laparoscopic procedures, what’s an old lady to talk about?

Oh, the folks here are giving me a suggestion, but I can’t quite hear it . . . Speak up, guys.

SHUT UP!

Oh . . . .

Yesterday, Mother’s; today, this little lawn. Ah, taking a deep breath . . . and getting at it. In a minute . . .  Soon . . .  We’ll see . . .

The Eating Machine has put herself on idle; I guess I slept it off. But now I am sensing there is a void in my life – funny how you can get used to something so fast and then, poof, you are left with no direction.

Ah, well, I’m sure something else will come along to temporarily obsess me. Too bad I’m not filthy rich or it could get interesting: Woman buys 24 new cars! Woman acquires beach front homes! Woman goes to Neiman-Marcus 37 times in one day! Of course, having a sudden interest in crime could work out bad: Woman robs 12 Piggly Wiggly Stores, then makes it a baker’s dozen. That would probably, in the deep recesses of my subconscious, link back to the food-eating that started it all.

Maybe I’ll reinvent myself today; what’s that internet site where you can get a patent?

I have been munching today, mostly on a Mexican “tasty” trend. At times my cheeks have been pushed out by food; I’m not exaggerating. I have just barely thought about the guilt of all the calories – barely thought of it and then dismissed it while leaning into the refrigerator. Oh, the thought of putting my face in a French Silk pie – now there’s a thought not to be tossed aside. Perfectly chilled chocolate with a whipped texture and a flaky pie crust . . . my cheeks just bulging with it.

I may eat too much and exercise not enough but constant eating is not my usual M.O. – that is probably fortunate since when people notice all the chips and sour cream and salsa gone, along with cookies and pie, I won’t be one of the usual suspects. Of course, writing it down here is a giveaway – but then the folks I live with don’t read this blog.

Twinkies. I just thought of them. Oh, the idea of sitting down and eating a whole box of Twinkies! Twinkies! Twinkies! Twinkies! GIVE ME A “T” . . .

I also feel like I want to TALK – A LOT. Which would mean I would be mostly talking with my mouth full. Actually, I need several boxes of Twinkies so I can share them and people would think, “Oh, who cares, let her talk – just keep the Twinkies coming.”

Boston Cream Pie . . . need, need, need.

*****

This moment has been brought to you by the AmeliaJake Crazy Times Society.

No pictures for this post, although I should have taken one of Cameron covered in dog hair after Shane’s examination. He could have been taken for the next doggie patient.

We at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse are not going to get real detailed here out of respect for out little fur buddy . . . so here’s just the gist of the story.

Shane now weighs 75 lbs  – muscle – and has a lot of hair everywhere.  He has become a fluff ball. Everywhere is fluff as I indicated before. We didn’t realize, though, how much fluff he had at one particular spot in that hairy everywhere.

Getting nourishment in through the mouth worked okay because it’s at the end of a snout that sticks out from the furball.  Getting the part that was judged not nourishment out was a different story.

So . . . there was bottom bathing, clipping with scissors, a bottom buzz clipping at the vet’s and an exam.  End result (no pun meant) is antibiotic by mouth, cortisone by mouth, cortisone spray and periodic close clipping of inferred but not definitely mentioned troubled area.

Shane has – get ready for it – no tail or an inverted tail which exacerbates the super fluff problem. Sigh.

Our regular vet was out of town so we took him up to the LaGrange Veterinary Clinic where Miss Alice used to go with my parents. He assured us that we didn’t have to worry about the “life-threatening” part listed on the internet; we had caught it early. So we are celebrating . . . Bottoms up! GROAN. Okay, I am on my way to stand in the corner.

See that blur? It is because Shane is giving the death shake to his Wubba.

Now, look, it would seem that his ears stuck in the wrong position . . .

The hand air dryer is really powerful. I feel my eyes darting back and forth as nefarious uses come to mind. It just screams TOY.

That is wrong; I feel like it is Monday morning. It feels to me as if I have a week’s worth of mind-numbing, backbreaking, dirty work ahead of me. My eyelids are heavy and the refrigerator is at a lull in making ice. That last sentence doesn’t reflect an organized mind, so it is an informative one. You don’t have to read between the lines – reading between the letters will do.

I want a magic wand. Oh, I mean: I want a Magic Wand . . .  A MAGIC WAND. One with power.

Well, wait a minute here; I think I just stumbled on a psychological trick . . . the thing about power. Yes. I could become the Magic Wand of Dictatorial Power. Okay, so I slipped an extra word in there.

I must plot plan.

Der Bingle brought me an apron that seems to fit my personality – and warns people off who might complain because of my total lack of cooking skills.