The Toxic Housewife

Here's a shot of the three (count them) three strawberries that managed to survive . . . well . . . ME being their gardener. It wasn't the easiest of tasks to get those plants there, I'll have you know.  I mean, I actually had to DIG them up from the patch at the farm, DRIVE them home, DRILL sloppy holes all over the side of an old black plant bucket (OK, that part actually was a little tough), FILL that bucket with dirt and compost, and then PLACE all the strawberry starts in the various holes of the bucket.  Then I had to FORGET about watering the strawberries, then wonder WHY most of the plants died and all I got were these three strawberries. But don't get me wrong: I'm actually thrilled to death that I , The Toxic Housewife, Herself , managed to grow three whole strawberries ! And then the birds ate them.

Mr. C has discovered my iPod, which means that now -- in his opinion -- my iPod is HIS iPod.

Oh, right:  that's why. There's nothing like spending four hours arguing with people who want to buy your old pig-shaped resin candleholder for 10 cents instead of 25.

Remember my last post?  The one about our car troubles?  The one that snidely predicted the car wouldn't start last Friday? Well . . .

(This photo really has nothing to do with this post, except that, with this outfit and his adorable face,  I kind of think Bee looks like the title character). (And, yes, he wore that outfit out of the house) My poor little Mazda has started giving us troubles.  I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, since it's 10 years old. That's practically ancient in today's technologically-minded world.