Peachy Keen

It was a day of shopper's regret, buyer's remorse and general mayhem.

A day of soaring temperatures combated with Oregonian air conditioning (a dusty box fan and a lengthy trip into the freezer section at Trader Joes).  

Raspberry jam, positioned on the top shelf, leaking steady and true, a deep crimson sugar river winding into the depths of the vegetable crisper. 

One burnt bagel. Two burnt bagels.  

 An eerie feeling in the shower that "something is not quite right," as the loofah scrubs against cotton instead of skin. 

Brief moment of laughter directly afterward, only to be shared with the painter out on the deck who hopefully caught a glimpse of more cotton than skin. 

A "why me?" day, in the loosest most problematic first world-ish usage of the phrase. 

When I get to Heaven someday though, you better believe I'll be asking where that Mr. Painter man is. And that UPS man, who saw me doing Hip Hop Abs. In my underwear. 

whoa woe whoa.

... 

Until then, a big batch of {Peach Mojitos} will have to suffice while I accept my fate in this life as "me." 

Anyone else care to join?

xoxo

{Bon Bon}