Irrelevant News
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Another Thursday had come around, and this time, Collette would not be working alone. Ivy was back from her sister’s in Florida and there would likely be much to catch up on, including packing up the office to move into the new place with the Neapolitan walls (which were now sure to be covered with normal boring cream-colored paint).
And now North Korea was building nuclear weapons against the wishes of the rest of the world, and Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall were to be married. Upon Prince Charles becoming king, she would only be known as “Princess”. The wedding was to be small and mostly a private ceremony at Windsor Castle.
That afternoon, Collette became dizzy and drowsy. It was good to hear about Ivy’s time in Florida. The day before she left, she had been sick, with Mo (her husband), and still had to order cakes for the new pastor’s installation service, get a hair cut, pick up a bundle of red roses for Mo’s birthday (which she would miss while she was gone), pick up groceries for him (including two cans each of small potatoes and butter beans), do laundry and pack.
And Collette was then feeling pretty bad herself. Taking allergy medication only worsened the situation, removing the sinus headache, but putting her nearly to sleep at least two dozen times while sitting at her desk at work.
At the house, there was supper with laughing. Carrie-Bri still wore her blue princess robe – the same which she wore on her walk with Mom early that morning, and found, halfway through, much to her embarrassment, that her coat did not completely cover it.
Rose, on the other hand, had her soft horse blanket tucked around her waist like a towel, as all her pants were dirty, and she had only short running shorts to wear in the cold weather.
“Flying side-kick!” Carrie-Bri yelled out to Dad as she came catapulting through the kitchen.
Dad deflected her with his wrist as she slammed through the air.
“Dad,” she raised her voice, “Quit eating the cake! Mom! Dad’s eating too many sweets.”
She whisked the cake plate off the table, yelling:
“Intervention!”
…as she scurried away laughing before Dad could catch her.