Dinosaur Dirt

The dinos were out for Mike's 50th birthday. It was a rainy night which pleases the Flamingess. Not because I am particularly crazy about getting wet at 3am, but because being in the rain is about the only way any of the critters get cleaned. Rain and sprinklers, the Flamingo Surprise answer to animal hygiene.

A quick aside about our experience with rain. It seems that even if we drive to a victim's home in a downpour that threatens to wash the flamingomobile off the road, it lets up long enough for us to get the yard set up. The deluge may start again the moment we slam the van doors closed, but we are usually just barely damp. Your grandmother kept her ironing damper than we get. Apparently the weather gods like lawn greetings.

Since Mike's dinosaurs were in a neighborhood close to home, and the Flamingess had to practically pass the place on her way to a morning meeting, an executive decision was made to leave them for an extra 12 hours. Hey - who am I to turn down the chance to actually go to bed at night?

Of course, by morning I'd lost track of my plan to stop on the way to my meeting. That failure of memory was aided by oversleeping and thereby reducing the usual 2 hours it takes me to become fully conscious to a scant 1-hour 15-minutes. I managed to get breakfast, get dressed, put on some kind of face, tame the hair and in to the car sort of on time, and figured the dinos could wait until I passed on my way home from the meeting.

As I neared the dino'd neighborhood I checked the clock. Quick calculation: 15 minutes before meeting starts, 4 minutes travel time from destination. I'll pick them up as originally planned. 7 minutes later I was pulling away from the now naked yard with this in my car.

Which is how I ended up arriving at my meeting with my hands caked with dinosaur dirt. Not many people can say that.