There is a problem in my nose.

Everyone should know that there are two da-(ok, I do not know how to spell this word, be right back)- dachshund puppies living in the deli case at my corner market. Swear. Named Balki Bartakamos and Larry Appleton from Perfect Strangers. 

There are no sandwiches in there or anything, just puppies. And puppy toys. I got all excited hoping there were going to be kittens, but to no avail. I don't like that kind of dog. Also that kind of dog bit my mother's ankles when she was little. So them x.

I have been charged to come up with a fabulous menu that I will be baking on Sunday night in a new oven. At least two of the courses are going to be souffles I've decided.

I have a new backpack on loan. Cause someone I know got a brand new bright shiny blue waterproof one. This new backpack makes me feel as though I am athletic and inspires me to do things like stride briskly across the nickel bridge.

I would like to have a Canada goose. Just in my den. Sitting austerely on the ottoman.

Obviously Michelle Obama, Jan Carl. That is an unmistakable silhouette. Bangs.

Want to go to Europe. Mostly just Ireland. And purchase a small cottage like Robyn and Ginnie's and it will have a pony in the front yard, and I will sit my elderly self on the porch with my cats and my tea and watch the water and feel the wind. Until I get cold and crabby and go inside.