Eesh

There was a dog hair in my shower, with me. That's when I knew I was spending too much time with Porter. A dog hair. Ick. Ick. Ick. One thing I like about Porter is she's not a very lick-y dog. I don't like dog lick on me. Not at all. It feels gross and there's all that... doggy-ness. Dis. Gusting. To be fair I don't like cats licking me either or their hair all on me. I don't like people licking me either, not that many ever do, but if you feel like you're going to, just don't. Maybe the dog hair came from Durwood, he goes over nearly every day to play with Porter and take her out for a potty break. He probably has a lot more dog hair on him, but then how would it get into the shower with me. No, I'm convinced I'm a dog hair carrier, even though it's been two whole days since I saw Porter and even then I didn't maul all over her. I'm not a dog-mauler. Now it was a totally different story with the 4-month old who came to the housewarming. (with her parents, she came with her parents) She'd barely gotten in the door when I asked to hold her and didn't give her back until she was too fussy to be soothed by a stranger. I wouldn't be at all surprised if a baby hair was in the shower with me, but I'd even taken a shower between today and Sunday (I did, I really did) so how'd it get in there with me? Maybe it got on me when I hugged Durwood when I got home from work yesterday, and glommed onto my... hair, yeah, that's it, and then stayed there all night and then fell out in the shower. Yeah, that's probably it, right? Right. Mystery solved.

September 27--Charles Scheeler, Criss-Crossed Conveyors, Rouge River Plant, Ford Motor Co. In the picture hung in the exhibition the place looked like a modern drawing with the conveyors and smokestacks, but to a kid who grew up in its shadow it was a monster. Like every other monster, the plant gobbled up people and flung filth around. Pat's dad worked there. When he got home he'd be black with metal filings and cakes with sweat. Flakes fell from him as he walked and he had and he had trouble breathing. Ma tried to get him clean but the dirt had sunk right into his pores.

Oh, horse pucky. I was ready to fly on that one and I fell dead asleep again. I need to quit knitting so late and get to bed earlier so I can write if inspiration hits. Next time.
--Barbara