It’s
been
a rough week
in Stardew Valley. My
ongoing efforts to land the town doctor were stymied because it
didn’t rain during
the last few days of Fall, so the ghost mariner didn’t show up at
the beach to sell me the mermaid amulet,
then suddenly it was Winter and it won’t rain in the winter
unless you have a rain totem, for which you need pine resin, and who
has pine resin just lying around? I had to wait through the entire
Winter and through the first week of Spring when it finally rained
and I could use my warp totem to beam
myself
to the beach and get the darn amulet. The
long and short of it is that Harvey and I are now hitched! We had a
sweet little wedding in the town square, then he moved into
my farmhouse
along with his ham radio set. So far so good, although he doesn’t
help out much on the farm. Mostly
he
stands
around and stares into space. And apparently even though I managed to
lure him into marriage, I’m still supposed to give him gifts. Ce la
vie. Mr. Typist has responded to all this by passively-aggressively
refusing
to say Harvey’s name. “How are things with Claude?” “It’
Harvey.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t remember the name of your game husband,
Lloyd or whatever.” “It’s Harvey.”
“Fine. Tell Cornelius I said hello.”
Speaking of that, on the marriage
in real life front, after almost twenty years we’ve started
bickering like a proper old couple. This week it was the Great
Refrigerator Shelf Controversy. All I’m saying is that there is a
difference between the “upper shelf” and the top shelf. It does
not go without saying that the upper shelf is the top shelf. The
“upper shelf” is a relative term. So when you ask me to put the
unthawed meat on the upper shelf, and I dutifully comply by putting
it on the shelf above the bottom shelf, (upper in relation to the
bottom) I do not think that entitles you to be annoyed because you
wanted it on the very top shelf. Words have meaning. And
furthermore when I ask you to clarify what you meant by “upper
shelf” and you insist that literally everyone on the planet knows
what that means, well, I take umbrage. And perhaps in my umbrage I am
compelled to say something snide like, “You opened the fridge last
night to get your snack plate. If you had been observant, you could
have rectified this situation by moving the meat yourself,” which
in turn prompts this response: “Oh, I should have been more
observant? While I’m getting a snack at midnight?” All of
this could have been avoided if the term “top shelf” had been
employed from the get-go. That’s all I’m saying.
I expressed concern last week
about the architects in “The Fountainhead” but now that I’ve
read little further into the book, I don’t care a whit anymore.
They’re fine. They’re all fine. Especially Roark. That man is as
audacious as hell, and the other guy is turning out to possess a
natural genius for sucking up, so I can file this away in the
“Concerns of the Past” folder. However, I am now worried about
the wrestlers. I was finally able to get another remote session with
my trainer last week, and he was telling me that since COVID, all of
his wresting buddies gave up working out and got fat. Mexican mask
wrestling takes place in huge public arenas, and as such it’s not a
thing that is happening at the moment. So there’s no motivation for
the wrestlers to keep working out, I guess. I can’t say I blame
them. However, in addition to being worried about them getting back
into fighting shape, I also think there’s something annoyingly smug
about them letting themselves go. That takes a certain level of
confidence, as though they are so athletically talented they know
they can just snap back into top shape a moment’s notice. I have no
such confidence in myself. I am fifty effing years old and not of a
body type that builds muscle easily, and if I gave up at this point,
there would be no snapping back. It’s taken over a year of
consistent effort for me to develop a barely visible bicep, and I am
not going to be resting on any muscular laurels, however small they
may be.
This this was a marriage-heavy
post, in the spirit of celebration and dancing, enjoy this little
ditty from the Celtic Women.
--Kristen McHenry
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