Does This Thursday Make my Butt Look Big?

Ever get the feeling your whole life is just one long non-sequitur? Lately I can't shake the sense that I've walked in on the middle of a conversation, and I just don't understand what's happening.

Campbell tore open the side seam of his vest. He presented it to me for repair, but when I didn't get to it right away, he took matters into his own hands. I should state for the record here that my son is an unconventional thinker. Way beyond thinking outside of the box, he is completely unaware of the existence of the box. Which leads to some pretty original problem-solving:

Yep. He duct taped it. With red duct tape, because...of reasons. And that tape residue will be there for all of eternity, or until I re-line the vest, whichever comes first. Seized by a bout of reckless optimism, I actually re-sewed the seam, gummy tape residue and all, and took the vest to the dry cleaner. I got all the way there and up to the counter before I realized I was on a fool's errand. To her credit, the nice lady there managed not to laugh out loud before turning me away. 

And when, other than a day when the temperature is 95 degrees, will your 17-year old freezer stop working? Yes! There I was, ankle-deep in melted popsicles, trying to identify/salvage the mysteries of the freezer. Can you make smoothies out of fish sticks? You know how I loathe cooking, but even by my standards the dinner menus this week have been, um, eclectic.  Note to self: Stop buying frozen meatballs. Just stop. 

The refrigerator half of the thing still works (please do not smite me, O Major Appliance Gods), so for now, we're just treating the freezer like a big empty cupboard. This may be a tactical error, because I have a husband who is quick to acclimate when something is broken. He will completely forget about it within a day or two, and just work around whatever damage there is, indefinitely. He was raised by a woman who, when her furnace broke down, heated her home by turning on the oven and leaving its door open. For TWO YEARS. There is a very strong chance that I will have to argue long and hard to justify throwing money at this problem. In retrospect, I think it would have served my case better to have left the popsicle puddle on the floor. Cleaning up the mess before Phillip came home totally belied the severity of the situation. But it was, after all, 95 degrees, and I was unable to overcome my fear of the impending stench. 

Oh well, I can always use another yarn storage area.