Nearly every evening, for more than a few hours, my husband and I sit out in what I call the Hillbillie Sitting Area. Where you are like three feet off a main road, the garden furniture consists of a broke down old swing, a fold up chair and a plastic one with the Weber in view and a woodpile beside you. Where every passing man and his dog can see you and you them. Haha I’ve got used to it, now I don’t stare down the vehicles so much as they come towards me…you know just in case I need to leap out of the way of a wayward vehicle.

Anyway. We were ruminating [HaHa. I’m funny] on how cows know the time.

Specifically feeding time.

I wondered if they counted. Mmmoo. Five hundred and sixty million cheews…five hundred, sixty million and onnnne cheeews…five hundred, sixty million and twooo chews…AHA! Finally I’m done. Or if they went by progress. Mmmoo. Okay I started at the front of the paddock, now I’m near the back. When I mooove over to that yonder tree and go up three paces I’ll see that little FatCrankyBastid come out with a bucket of the good stuff.

As we were marvelling at the bovine ability in timekeeping a bat kept interrupting by swooping at us. The husband noticed it first, then he sat there jumping and squealing about it. While I being the more braver of the two didn’t give a shit about the bat. That is, didn’t give a shit unless it got stuck in my hair…then I may have been doing some squealing, although fat lot of good it would have done me as I reckon I would have been on my own trying to detangle the little flying bastid uh. Because the husband was acting like a big girls blouse we were never able to finish the cow conversation.

I must say I’ve had a pretty good weekend working. Nothing too drastic, my good mood even continued into this morning when I came into a dryer full of personal clothing left by the *half-price special* girl who worked last night.

I told one of the nurses it must have been her SuperNurseForcefield that deflected the plastic knife she accused me of throwing at her [she had dropped it]. I love Heather. This weekend I found it’s very easy to make her laugh. And if ever a person needs to laugh--it’s Heather. By the look of her she’s not been dealt the best hand in life. Apparently her mum is a real woman of beauty.

I even refrained exclaiming at our token lesbian [she of the snot swallowing a few posts back]…Yer bloody kidding yerself if you thought people never would have guessed. When she was [not exactly…can‘t grasp correct word] lamenting the fact that her being a lesbian is OUT in our workplace due to another one of our nurses blabbing about her.

I mean seriously. If ever I’ve pinpointed a big bull dyke it would be Jazzy. Funny that she thinks other wise. I mean, the girl oozes her sexual preference you can almost smell it on her. She’s about six foot and built like a linebacker gone to fat, talks about her partner, walks, talks and acts like a bloke and we know she has no hesitation in hawking up big mouth gollies and the pièce de résistance a Dad-in-a-love-heart tattoo on her inside forearm.

In a way I think she was relieved that “her revelation” was met with our couldn’t give a bugger attitude. Probably helps that the other person at the table has a gay son and a lesbian sister and me I’m open-minded [I like to say more cosmopolitan heh] and basically just don’t care [as long as yer a “good“ person and can make me laugh. HaHa]…But I do understand her uncertainty, especially with living around here.

Anyway.

Tra la la lah laah I’m off tomorrow.