Sunday morning, I leaped from my bed (leaped being a relative term that in no way describes my current athletic prowess), determined to accomplish a long list of chores, including the annual Halloween decorating of Casa de Chelle.
I had intended to do the decorating on Saturday, but, was experiencing some foot/leg pain that, while tolerable with a dose of ibuprofen (and some gumption); provided a (lame) excuse to lay around all day, binging on One Tree Hill reruns and pretzel bites.
I'm not entirely sorry.
Hence, Sunday was to be my day. Once I was up, I commandeered Hugh to help with the retrieval of the Halloween boxes from their storage space in the attic above the garage. Since trips up and down the ladder to get the boxes is my absolute least favorite part of the whole process, his help was greatly appreciated.
Boomer dog also helped, lest you think he's a slacker.
Once the boxes, totes, and other storage apparatuses were safely stowed against a wall in the garage, I went to the hardware store to knock out my duties, giving myself the entire afternoon and evening in which to create Halloween nirvana.
Or so I thought.
In actuality, I got an emergency call-out and spent the entire day at Not So New Job. Le sigh.
So, actual commencement of Halloweenapalooza had to wait until last night, when I finally had the time to attack the boxes. Did I get very far in my endeavor? Oh, hell no. Was it a start? Yes. More to come on that in the coming days.
As an aside, while my house is not yet up to my seasonal spooky standards, Hugh and my bedroom certainly is; our nightly peaceful slumber has been shattered by demonic moaning and the very sounds of hell, itself.
From where is this nightly onslaught of horrific noise emanating, you may ask?
Ummm, that would be me.
Apparently, a new side effect of old age, weight gain, etc., is the tendency to snore. I have never been a snorer. Never. And, trust me when I say that I tried to blame it on Hugh, but; he countered my argument with a cellphone recording that makes the charge against me undeniable.
For the record, it's also really, really alarming; like Beelzebub screaming from the very bowels of hell, alarming.
Naturally, Hugh's first thought was that I had, indeed, been possessed and, in his defense, I can kinda see it. We do, currently, lack levitation and head spinning, so, we aren't quite there (just yet).
I honestly can't blame him for being scared.
Am I amused by his terror?
If I say yes, does that make me a terrible person?
Anyhoodle, I am off to Google natural remedies for snoring (and, possibly exorcists available in our area. One can't be too cautious).
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