The jet boat of summer has motored off the lake. All that remains is a broad wake of ennui. That’s on-wee for you non-French readers. Listlessness, languor, tedium.
I can’t help it. I have it. Ingredients beyond my control are being poured into my on-wee cocktail. Some things I won’t talk about. Others are pretty typical for ladies of a certain age. Can you spell h-o-t-f-l-a-s-h-e-s or c-o-l-o-n-o-s-c-o-p-y? Serenity prayer 911! Where’s my life jacket?
Know what’s a good antidote for the on-wees? Jumping. You heard me….jumping! When the on-wees are dragging you down, look up.
Yes, I know my stomach is showing. I have a stomach and it hangs out sometimes…deal with it. Try to see my joy, people.
Better yet, jump with someone else. With the Texan. On a big rock in the sky!
Watch your Sprout jump.
Watch your Sprout-in-law nimbly click his heels.
And the numero uno, the number 1 all-time best cure for the on-wees is…..
Roxy-Doxy on a rock. Does it for me.
I may be simple, but I’ve got my tried-and-true cures for the on-wees.
Note: Even though she’s just a wiener with questionable political affiliations, who doesn’t enjoy Olympic curling, and who has a suspect method of selecting her NCAA b-ball tournament bracket, the Texan and I love her. She’s having surgery for a hernia tomorrow. I know all will be fine…..but she’s our baby.
Of course…..I’ll let you know how she does. Thanks for caring.
May you be blessed. Jumping love to all this week.