The trouble began when I called Mother Nature “Baby Cakes.”
Baby Cakes knows that I do my grocery shopping on Mondays to get it out of the way so I can spend the rest of the week drinking Scotch. Yet look at today’s RADAR. It looks pretty much like last Monday’s RADAR. And the Monday before that. Coincidence? I think not.
I’ve tried multiple times to arrange peace talks. Mother Nature simply laughs even though I’ve told her the Geneva Convention applies to our “situation.”
I want dry groceries and a car that doesn’t smell like wet Brussels sprouts. Last week there was so much water in the car that my veggies got saturated with the contents of a sack of Miracle-Gro and were ten times their normal size by the time I got home. Basically, I had a cord of salad materials, including carrots the size of lodgepole pines.
I live in a respectable neighborhood in which people don’t tolerate things that are weird like oversized veggies. So, Baby Cakes and I really need to hold serious peace talks. I’ve suggested the stadium at Berry College, but she wants a larger venue. Okay, well the Atlanta Braves have a farm team here in Rome, Ga, but she (you know who I mean) wants more.
My response was “To hell with that.”
Her response to my saying “To hell with that” was “When the floods come, I’ll remind people you weren’t willing to find a compromise.”
Look, I’m just too wet and too pissed off to find a compromise, plus I’m still trying to dry out the bread in the oven. So far, everything looks like toast.
I love nature. But sometimes nature gets a little full of itself.