saturday was a long day for the baron and the husband.
the husband spent the day in virginia, at an event the baron dubbed 'beerapalooza'. amateur home brewers from near and near traveled to old dominion brewery ready to share their best home brewed beer. the husband was being a proctor or a runner - the baron is fuzzy on the details of his activities, but he was either ferrying beer from the competitors to the judges, or he was sitting with the judges to make sure they drank the beer... correctly? fuzzy.
the baron spent the day baking dog biscuits for a fundraiser hosted by the committee she co-chairs. she doesn't take the committee members ('pernicious do-gooders', the husband calls them) too seriously, but she takes the committee's mission very seriously indeed. as such, she spent the day slapping together flour and milk and peanut butter, then baking treats, then meticulously wrapping treats; the biscuits were bone shaped and not too bad, according to the baron's brood.
the baron and the husband reconvened at home in the late afternoon, tired and mostly fed up with their wasted saturday. it was quickly decided that an antidote was called for, the universal antidote to the saturday blues: liquor.
the baron's drinky-drinky put her in right good spirits, and it worked for the husband too, as he came into the house from the garden (where he had been relaxing with the latest 'phoenix home and garden (and all the things you cannot have in maryland)' - but that last part of the title is implied and not actually on the masthead) bearing this information:
'when i am happy, i sing a song. it goes: une, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huite, neuf, dix, onze, douze, treize, quatorze, vingt, vingt et une, vingt et deux'.
yes, he skipped from fourteen to twenty and ended at twenty-two, but do you think it's possible that he might have just kept on singing-counting? in perpetuity? or just until the rum ran out?
1 comment:
the baron's husband sounds as wonderfully learned and such as the baron
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