I walked into the bathroom at work this morning and it smelled like delicious breakfast food. I should add that our office shares a wall with a coffee shop/bakery that specializes in waffles and other tasty treats, so that isn’t nearly as weird as it sounds.
Also, being attached to a coffee shop is a very nice perk. Pun intended.
Often when they start gearing up for lunch, our lobby smells like onions and garlic. Some of my coworkers stew over this (I’m nailin’ these today!), but it doesn’t bother me. I find the smell of cooking food oddly comforting. Tara likes scented candles that smell like fresh linen. If such a thing existed, I’d buy candles that smelled like garlic bread or Italian sausage. In fact, I’ve contemplated bringing a crockpot to work, plugging it in at my desk, and slow-cooking a chicken cacciatore while banging out words. Who says you can only cook in the office when there’s a potluck?!
This might be my favorite-ever Ron Swanson quote.
It’s the only kind of “milk” my parents drink. Tara buys whole milk. You can imagine the battles that ensue whenever they come to visit.
Just kidding. There are no battles. Only because we stock the fridge with a carton of skim milk before they arrive. If we didn’t, it would be all-out war. My mom would be clawing at my eyes and I’d be yanking her hair in self-defense while simultaneously trying to trip my dad. And that’s not cool, man, because they birthed me and whatnot.
I find skim milk tasteless and pointless. I rarely drink milk anyway, and when I do, it’s maybe half a cup whose sole purpose is to act as a body of liquid upon which my cereal can float. What little bit there is might as well taste good!
Oh, and Oreos. Another rare treat, but come on. I wouldn’t dream of eating those without milk. I am no heathen, people!!
It didn’t rain so much as a single drop the whole seven days my parents were here. Within one hour of their departure, the heavens opened up and inundated us with thunderstorms and torrential rain. I believe it was what the old-timers call “a gully washer.”
No complaints here. We’re technically in a drought and every little bit helps.
With the sun rising a little bit later every day, it’s that time of year when my morning walks coincide perfectly with the sunrise. This morning’s was especially colorful; here it was, lighting up the clouds over the ridge in our neighborhood. Much like Trump’s mouth, there’s no filter, folks.
This is what it looked like reflected in our living room window.
As if all that weren’t spectacular enough, there was a rainbow, too. Felt like I hit the jackpot just by walking out the front door at 5:35 this morning.
Of course, this means in a few weeks, I’ll be walking in the dark again. But I’ll have cereal with real milk waiting for me when I get home, so it’s all good in this ‘hood.