Hello Darlings! This is going to be quick because I, Fabiola am typing this on the run. That horrible Mary had the Fab trapped in the bottom of a laundry hamper (under a particularly vile pair of work socks that Fabiola swears ... well we won't go into it but, clearly, a day spent inside workboots doesn't leave wool smelling like roses). Where was Fabiola? Yes. Hiding upstairs while Mary catches up on house cleaning that she neglected while dealing with snow followed by various other outdoor tasks. Like brining in wood for the wood stove. Warm is wonderful but out here it only happens with work. Sigh.
Anywho, Mary let the dog ride in the backhoe while she moved snow the other day, but did she leave room for the Fab? No. Anyway, I, Fabiola would have felt it necessary to point out that shortly after the snow was pushed to the side, the wind pushed it back. Trucks had to get in and out that day, so, perhaps there was a point to moving the same snow over and over. Perhaps Mary didn't want to hear that the job she was doing was almost pointless. In a way it struck Fabiola as being remarkably similar to doing laundry, clothes are clean, then they aren't, so you wash them. Then the clothes are clean again, quickly they become, not. Fabiola only wishes that she had encountered the work socks in the pre-dirty state. But then they wouldn't have been in the hamper with Fabiola, would they have? Fabiola supposes that life is an endless cycle of encounters with snow that won't stay put and smelly socks. Or something like that.
Anywho, Mary let the dog ride in the backhoe while she moved snow the other day, but did she leave room for the Fab? No. Anyway, I, Fabiola would have felt it necessary to point out that shortly after the snow was pushed to the side, the wind pushed it back. Trucks had to get in and out that day, so, perhaps there was a point to moving the same snow over and over. Perhaps Mary didn't want to hear that the job she was doing was almost pointless. In a way it struck Fabiola as being remarkably similar to doing laundry, clothes are clean, then they aren't, so you wash them. Then the clothes are clean again, quickly they become, not. Fabiola only wishes that she had encountered the work socks in the pre-dirty state. But then they wouldn't have been in the hamper with Fabiola, would they have? Fabiola supposes that life is an endless cycle of encounters with snow that won't stay put and smelly socks. Or something like that.