Good morning. What would you like to talk about first? The good news or the bad news? The Good News, am I right?
Alabama, you were amazing last night. You showed us all that change is possible even in the most conservative of states. And black women of Alabama, I think it’s safe to say many women across the country thank you and are so proud of you. Jones couldn’t have pulled it off without you.
Similar to the morning following the presidential election, I awoke early after a restless night and reached for the phone with a feeling of dread but oh happy day, it was good news. Buh-bye, Roy Moore. You can saddle up and ride on home to the ranch. Maybe you could add an addition and invite Steve Bannon to come stay because it would be really nice to see him slink into obscurity, also.
And speaking of creepy, that reminds me of the bad news. There is something creepy in my shower again. This is not the first time I’ve had something crawling around on the floor of the shower. The last time it was a bat. You can read that story here. This time, it was an equally dark but much smaller blob. There’s nothing like being in the shower, with shampoo running into your eyes, and spotting something crawling just to the right of your right foot; your naked, wet, vulnerable foot, which is attached to the naked, wet vulnerable rest of you. It’s terrifying. On a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being an ant in the driveway and 10 being a huntsman spider appearing in your car while hurtling down the highway at 75 mph, this was about a 6. And that’s only because, after I got the soap out of my eyes, I could see short little legs waving around which meant, Thank God, it wasn’t in the spider family but rather, the insect family. I can share a shower with an insect. It’s not my preferred method of bathing. I wouldn’t have gotten in the shower had I known it had dibs, but now that I was there, I was going to finish what I’d come for. It was, however, one of the shorter showers I’ve taken.
This is a job for BigB. Or littleb. Or TWLITB. I don’t care which one takes care of it, as long as it isn’t me. I’ll be going on a cooking strike until the issue is resolved.