Pretty Pink Flowers...

When I was a very little girl I knew very little of what my father's job entailed.  I knew he farmed and farmed a crop that caused him a lot of trouble.  He'd come home and talk of the suckers and clay dirt and I would think he was talking of candy and play-dough.

Turns out he was talking about tobacco.  The crop that in a very few short years I would grow very familiar with-- tobacco. 

It grows green from a very small seed that will result in a baby plant that has to be transplanted by hand from a greenhouse to the field.

The plant itself, depending on what type of soil it matures in and weather conditions, can grow to be almost taller than myself. And once it matures it shoots out this beautiful pink flower, right out the top.

As a little girl I couldn't understand why in the world would anyone want those beautiful pink flowers out of the plant.  I remember one afternoon my parents pulling into a field of tobacco and walking down the rows popping out the tops, those beautiful pink flowers, and throwing them on the ground.  I walked behind them, my sister and I, and picked up the bunches and made wedding bouquets.

How pretty they were! 

They were very pretty until it was time to go.  When I put them down, I discovered sticky hands.  My greatest fear!  I hate sticky and still do to this day.  The tar and the gum wouldn't come off by wiping my hands on my shorts.  It would take a good washing in hot water and Lava soap to rid them of that sticky residue.  I was throughly disgusted by the pretty pink flowers...

I later learned that the pretty pink flowers take away nutrients from the plant and cause the tobacco leaf to weigh less.  Since you sell tobacco by the pound, you want the leaf to have more weight, therefore the pink flowers have to come out... along with the suckers that grow between the leaf and the stalk.

a picture of a sucker on a trash pile of tobacco

To think, once, I thought that my daddy grew candy and had mountains of play dough that he wouldn't share with me!

There is a Man in India that Thinks I'm Crazy...

"Can you read?" a very rude and very heavy Indian accent flooded the end of my phone receiver.  Indigently, I replied that I could so read.  The reason for such a question was because earlier last week the Starter Pool's pump died.  And because of its demise, I was forced to call the company that makes the starter pool which evidently outsources its customer service overseas. 

I was already in a bad mood when I called because, even though the pool is still under warranty, we threw away the pump manual and no longer had the serial number that would ensure us a completely new and free pool pump.  So I wasn't happy.  And even though I wasn't overly friendly, as I generally try to be when calling a customer service hot line, I wasn't being rude either.  So I was quite gotten away with when the grumpy little voice on the other end of the line asked me if I was capable of reading!

Of course he needed the model number off the pool's pump-- which was when all the trouble started.... 
I couldn't see the number-- even though he said it was after the word "CAUTION".  I told him I could see the word CAUTION but I couldn't see a number.  The word after CAUTION was not a number and to be more specific-- the character after the word CAUTION was a colon, not a word-- but I figured that would really tick him off and so I just started reading the entire sentence after the colon to the grumpy man in India who asked if I could read.   Apparently we were experiencing a language barrier.  He should have said "under" instead of "after" because when I looked down a few lines, there was indeed a model number.

The problem was taken care of and now that the pump as arrived, all will be forgotten-- eventually.

It's that Time Again...

June was unbearably hot-- which resulted in us buying the Starter Pool.  July is upon us and at least it has brought some much needed rain along with the heat and humidity.  Summer is in full swing and that means vacations are just around the corner.

Every year we go for a couple of days with my in-laws to Myrtle Beach around the end of July.  My in-laws are the type of people that love to entertain with activities.  When we come down for a few days we end up sight-seeing, eating at very crowded chain style restaurants and shop-shop-shopping until we are literally about to drop dead-- except we still have to visit long-lost relatives that happen to live near by.  It's fun.  But it's not relaxing in the least. 

Luckily, at the beginning of August we also take a tiny break and head to Emerald Isle with my family who vacation in the most opposite fashion.  Relaxing by the pool with a drink in your hand... laying on the beach with a good book... waking up to a giant breakfasts' prepared especially for you... eating a large fabulous meal each and every night in the comfort of your PJ's... it's just the most relaxing vacation you'll ever take with a group of people.

My Uncle-- who is fabulous and owns a couple restaurants (which explains the food mentioned above)-- always rents a place for a week or so and we all go down.  This year he's rented the Anna Victoria.  We stayed across the road from it last year and lusted after it's massiveness.  He said that if we all came down for a couple of days, he'd rent it for us.

So, duh... we all agreed that we'd come down for a little bit. 

I'm not sure I'm going to want to leave!

Dressed-Down Sort of Dressed-Up...

I have a closet in my house that holds nothing but dresses. Beautiful dresses that may or may not have ever been worn.  Some were worn to parties and weddings while others have only been to work or church.  And then there are the few that have the tag still on and have never been worn nowhere.  I've got a bad habit of buying dresses with no place to wear them. 

This week I ordered a pretty little dress from Urban Outfitters.  I had a code to get 15% off and when I saw the little strapless number with the ruffles down the front and read that it was made from vintage material-- I had to get it.

It came yesterday and now I'm dying to wear it.  Tonight, I'm pretty sure that we will be going to one of our 'regular' places... Mucho Mexico.  It is not a fancy place-- just a cheap and fun place to hang out at... drink a beer and have a taco sort of place... and I want to wear this dress.

But I know when I do-- I'll hear the groans from the Hubster-- "Why are you wearing a dress?"  I'll hear the "Oh.  You dressed up" from my sister when we arrive at the restaurant--late of course.  And then I'll have to be all like, "no, this is a casual dress" and no one will understand. 

If I wore pants... or shorts... or even a skirt-- I'd not hear "Oh!  You dressed up."  But the moment you put on a dress-- you've dressed up.

And then there is men... Why is it that men wear the same thing, over and over and no one cares?  The Hubster wears the same type polo shirt over the same type chino shorts with the same type of boat shoe every where we go and no one ever cares! He's even worn this same type outfit to sort of fancy parties and no one cares because all his friends dress this way-- it's like a club or something! 

Oh the pressures of being a woman!