Once upon a hot and sticky afternoon, about 5 years ago, Adrian and I were out irrigating at my camp in Charleston, NV. That day I was carrying my shovel over my shoulder and on the way to the next dam I knelt down to tug at my socks that were sliding around inside my wader boots. Standing up and swinging around with gusto I managed to smack Adrian in the side of the head with my shovel hard enough to lay her flat out on the ground, give her a black eye and a goose eye on her forehead. She’s been really cranky about that ever since, slow to forgive you might say, but that might have something to do with the fact there was a rodeo that coming weekend. And she really did have a black eye.
This evening, not 30 minutes ago, Adrian got her revenge.
Walking into the bunkhouse I let in a particularly big dragonfly where it did its disgusting, fly-around-freak-you-out dance, in my house. Gross. I hate those things, they make me scream in a very high pitch that even I don’t like, but I really can’t help it. Adrian grabbed my broom and in a valiant, protector, warrior-sister move, attacked…but not before she stuck the handle of the broom into my left eye so hard it knocked me to my knees and I still can’t see.
That damn bug is still hiding somewhere here in the bunkhouse.
Just a Three Stooges kinda night…
xo xo Liz
PS. I read this out loud to Adrian, who has forsaken her cowboy-tipi for one night and is spending the night here in the bunkhouse with me, and we're laughing stupidly hard because both stories are totally true and not exaggerated one bit for your benefit. So there. HAHAHAHA