Remember that movie, TGMBC? A bush pilot tosses an empty Coke bottle, and its fall from the sky is interpreted by a remote tribesman as an indecipherable message from the heavens. I’m sitting here with a diet root beer in hand for breakfast with a similar sense of crazy.
The original plan for this morning was to take a shower and head over to a lab for self-paid NMR blood work. But the gods made other plans: (A) They burnt out our water pump in the middle of the night, and (B) they gave us one more late-season, driveway-blocking dump of snow.
So, although I had pretty much written off drinking diet soda, it’s this or melted snow until the driveway gets opened up, dear husband goes to Farm and Fleet to buy a motor, and then installs same.
Go ahead, have a laugh on us.
[Have to point out, my amazing husband can fix anything, and he’s been meaning to install a hand pump over our basement well for emergencies. Expect that project will move up the priority list.]
