the scariest thing I've ever seen

It was terrifying. I've been dealing with a cold or flu or something; generally feeling cruddy. I woke up in the middle of the night last night, shuffled down the hall to the bathroom and turned on the light. Then I saw it... the most horrifying face. Swollen and puffy, splotchy and squinty... it was, of course, my own reflection in the mirror. Did I mention that I'm getting close to forty?
Mental note; do not turn on the light in the middle of the night any more, especially not while ill.

The Farmer Nod

I grew up in a farming community. My Dad farmed, our neighbours farmed, our friends farmed; most of the people you would encounter driving down the road were farmers. This was not lucrative farming, though. Most of them had another job too, which meant that they worked pretty much all the time. From chores before dawn to an eight-hour shift somewhere to bringing in the hay long after dark, these guys knew hard work. I attribute the standard form of greeting that I grew up seeing to this. When these folks passed one another they didn't wave (hands probably busy) or say "Hello", (probably loud machinery running) what they did was what I affectionately refer to as "the farmer nod". It looks like this: compress your lips, almost smiling but not; dip your head down a small amount and back up, one time, quickly; maintain eye contact. This is done all together at lightning speed, like a reflex. This is a very efficient and very effective form of greeting among farmers, and I have learned it instinctively. This is how I greet people all over the place whether I'm walking, biking, running, whatever. The problem is, I no longer live in the farming community. People don't seem to understand that what I am doing should be considered a friendly gesture. Instead they seem to think that I'm some sort of lunatic with an uncontrollable tick. I'm trying to remember to wave or say "hello", but the farmer nod does not want to be shaken. I just hope I can retrain my brain before someone decides to have me locked up.

My Running Shorts

You know it's time to take action when you get the muffin-top effect with a pair of sweatpants. Okay, to give myself a break, they aren't regular sweatpants, they are those wonderful running shorts that are made of spandex and steel, or some such combo. You know, the ones that don't give at all, the ones that are indestructible and impervious to everything but stink. (Thanks New Balance.) Allow me to illustrate:

The part of me that is in the shorts looks great, it's just all the, um, excess above and below the shorts that have become a problem. (That and breathing.) So I'm thinking that what I need is a garment made out of this mystical fabric that comes up higher, higher, pushing the fat up, up, up until my entire body is held perfectly in place, looking fantastic! The problem would be what to do with the tremendous fat blob on the top of my head.

Dreary, dirty dishes

The dishwasher died.

 It has been over a year now since I started washing our dishes by hand. At first I enjoyed it. The dishwasher had been dying slowly for a while and was doing a pretty poor job by the end, so I was happy to be getting the dishes actually clean. "It's such a satisfying feeling," I told my hubby, "getting everything all nice and clean!" Yeah, nice.
 Fast forward to now. Satisfaction lessening, irritation increasing. The other day I found myself standing in the kitchen giving serious thought to smashing every last dirty dish. "Now that would feel satisfying!" I thought, "But wait, then I would have that mess to clean up. Maybe I could just throw them all out and buy new dishes? That's it; all brand new dishes! But, I would have to wash them before we could use them. I guess I might as well just wash these ones. Ho hum."