On the way home, I stopped at three thrift stores looking for books, and eventually left with six apothecary-style jars, a replacement hardcover of Stephen R Donaldson’s A Man Rides Through (my book club edition was in the Saturn), and a handful of books for the girlchild. At the third store, I saw women rooting through the dumpster behind the store, pulling out what I assume wasn’t good enough to sell. Wow. That brought back memories.
When Decatur pulled into Fiji, I had the deck watch during trash call. Now, we’d crossed the line a few days prior, and our mulching machine couldn’t take clothing, so all of the nasty coveralls and other assorted clothing stuff was all in trash bags waiting for offload – environmentally friendly ships don’t toss garbage-encrusted uniforms and boots over the side. The clothes were foul, torn, and icky, but the dock workers there were digging through like it was treasure. Finally, they took the dumpster away so they could, I assume, dig with greater leisure.
So finally I get home and it is lunchtime. I pop a frozen lasagne thingy in the micronuker, sat down for a few moments of quality time with the computer, and decided I wanted a bath. The house was all mine, the cats were asleep.... Yeah. So the lasagne, a coca-cola, and the new Raymond Feist book, Talon of the Silver Hawk all go for a tub soak with the local radio station playing decent music. Bliss. All I needed was some bubble bath, and doggone it, I miss the Garden Botanika store in the mall. I just never order that stuff online. Online ordering is for important things, like books, and books, and, well, you know...Books! And maybe the occasional tee shirt from Pegasus Publishing. I sure wish I had the gumption to wear that Star Wars parody shirt. "You don't need to look at my chest. These aren't the breasts you're looking for. Move along." At least I have the assets.
The lasagne is still upsetting my stomach. Blech.