I’ve found a new item to go on the list of “things you really don’t want to see.” This would be a scorch mark about six feet across on the pavement, when the scorch mark also includes blackened shards of metal and glass, and the pavement is right outside the gas and oil depot. They used to have aircraft fuel there, but now they just have your basic gasoline, heating oil, diesel, that kind of thing which you really want to have fire around. Yikes?
In other news, I bought wine for the first time! I needed it for a chicken recipe, all you people with suspicious minds. And yes, Mommy and I sampled it, but that’s beside the point. 😀 Anyhow, that was my first time in the liquor store without someone who know what they were doing, and I was LOST. It’s when you’re trying to buy things yourself that you finally notice that everything is in french and russian. I’m wandering up and down the aisles going, ~that’s a pretty bottle- oh, it’s vodka. Oh look, that has a kangaroo on it! and- *peers at it* -it looks like it’s red. I need white. Oh, that one has a kiwi on the label! And it’s a chardonnay. I need white. Wait a minute…~ Yes, it was a sad and pathetic spectacle, and I finally decided on a bottle which had a smily sign next to it that said, “I’m good with chicken!” (The recipe was a success, so I guess the sign did not lie. ) So I made my way to the cash register, clutching my bottle and my wallet-containing-photo-id, and they didn’t ask for ID!
I’m a little bit bemused by that. What does it mean? I shall ponder this. I was wearing my devastating red coat and uber-stylish knitted cap, so I COULD have just looked far too mature and worldly-wise to be underage. Yeah, that must be it.