"Oooo! I know!" I said to my friend. "Let's drive out to the country to that ice cream place, where you can pet cows and eat ice cream they made right there on the spot!"
For me, there's a whole afternoon. There's a black-and-white cat who lives there, and I think it's so cute they got a cat with cow colors. And there are Border Collies, or were. Now there's just one who lopes around without a care. Also, peahens.
AND COWS!
So we went.
I don't even LIKE milk. Wouldn't it be awful if you produced milk and you didn't even like it? She asks tens of readers who've had kids and produced milk all over the place.
Oh, it's lovely there. I ordered the kids size, meaning, apparently, they give a scoop of butter pecan that is the size of a child between the ages of 18 months and 11 years old. Then you get to sit on chairs and eat your ice cream while grownup cows meander across the street, and the Border Collie lies in the middle of the road.
Alternatively, you can go kiss the BABY COWS! Guess who I was obsessed with. Was it old brownie, here, wif her eyelashessses? Was I obsessed at all? Was I an idiot? Did I knock a few kids aside who had the nerve to want to come near my new baby cow baby of all babies?
Caffie be cute.
Oh my god. I was obsessed with her. Did I mention?
do Caffie look hot?
The whole time I'm writing this, I have the back door open, and that is not a euphemism, and as I write I hear {quiet} {quiet} then GLUMP GLUMP GLUMP {quite} {quiet} GLUMP GLUMP GLUMP. The dogs are doing their full-speed circle around the yard, and when they hit the deck they galumph across it, then tear across the rest of the yard, and soon they'll both burst through the door and drink 79 gallons of water and tear out again.
The point is, I act like I don't already LIVE IN CHAOS and here I am thinking, I could totally get a brown cow baby.
O, you culd. Caffee agree.
Cow selfie. It went well.
Anyway, it was a good day at the creamery. I was nuttery. And that's a surprise.
Everyone's in now. This whole back room is all, "Henh, henh, henh..." Oh, they just went back to the water dish. I'll bet it's tidy and not at all splashy around that dish right now. But yeah, get a baby cow, June. Good plan.
So that happened. And then we went to dinner, and at the restaurant they were playing all grunge songs, like they had some kind of "Gritty Soudns of the 90s" soundtrack on their Pandora or something. But then, after about a hundred SoundPearlPilots songs of Nirvana, they broke into Led Zeppelin.
"What is this, the soundtrack of my life?" I asked, because hey, June, try to be more self-centered. "First we're in Seattle and now we've gone to all the high school basement parties I ever attended."
This got me thinking about if I were going to make a soundtrack of my life, what songs would I put on there, and it's sort of riveting to mull. Here are a few I've thought of so far.
Swear to god, this is the first song I thought of, and it's a jingle, and you know, Laura Ingalls Wilder's soundtrack would not include a jingle. But I can hear this playing from the living room TV while I tried to sleep in my room down the hall.
Anyway, it's kind of a fascinating thing to think about. The soundtrack of one's life. So far I'm at toddlerhood, where I was between 18 months and 11 years old.
Also?
Oh, shit, Lottie's crying. Gotta go break that shit up.
lotEE good! she totlee good! she go bak out now?
