Only Wednesday and it's already been a weird week. For starters, the single digit temperatures forced me to layer and hibernate, a pale, furless mammal in a nest of space heaters behind closed office doors. I've sprouted a serious hoodie habit. Happily, they go beautifully with sweatpants.
Sunday night, I climbed out of my burrow to feed the dogs, fumbling into the kitchen with the house lights off and scooping food by the porch light's glow. What do I see? The shadow of a bird, midflight, in our living room. Wait, no, scratch that. It's a bat, circling the living room, kitchen and dining room. I flip on a light to make sure I'm not crazy and the flight pattern quickens. Being a Buffy fan, I gently woo little Dracula safely toward the freezing back door, which he doesn't like. No go. I enlist George's aid. Dracula moves upstairs, gently soaring through the hallway and then stopping to clutch the bedroom curtain between rounds. George blocks the exit with a blanket and we turn on all the lights. Poor bum can't see and flutters to the ground, where I wrap him in a blanket despite his screeching. He is delivered outside posthaste and flies off without a proper thank-you. Twenty minutes of vampire hunting end successfully. George remains uneasy about how he got inside, as if we run Fort Knox and aren't standing with the doors held wide forty times a day waiting for the effing dogs to hurry inside or out.
Then yesterday, Tuesday, I venture into the cold once more to buy eggs at the Sale Barn, which is apparently what we call the auction house and only took me 16 months to figure out. I heard you could get free range eggs for $2/dozen, which is worth a look, plus I've never had a reason to go. I'm curious. Turns out I have to wait two hours to bid on the eggs, and today I'm too late. I'm told they went for $1.97 this week. I'm not sure how I feel about coming back. On one hand, it's just eggs, but on the other, I've always wanted to use one of those numbered paddles.
Maybe next week. Maybe once the weather warms and things go back to boring normal.