Yet another reality check...

I had completely forgotten how over-rated a toss in the hayloft is--until tonight. There I was, happily musing on life while shifting more pavers, when the call went out over the intercom. "Need assistance in Outside Lawn and Garden." OK, fine, I went to find out what the issue was. Two lovely young ladies were hovering next to the cashier, who indicated their purchases and said "they would buy another bale of straw if we could locate it; the inventory says we have 21 of them." After a thorough search, I found the straw bales, safely locked up in an outside enclosure. Two different managers had the wrong key. Finally, as I was considering scaling the fence and tossing a few bales back over, Deb, the Ultimate Resource shows up and unlocks the gate. She dashes off, leaving me in charge of restocking the landscaping straw. In the initial excitement of delivering the Third Bale to the young ladies, who took off in a flurry of landscaping plans, and restocking the rest of the display, it was a few minutes before I registered the distressingly itchy state of my skin...ALL my skin... Cut oat straw is pernicious stuff. It gets, literally, everywhere. I spent the rest of the evening thinking tranquilizing thoughts, and actively speculating wether the customers would notice one more nymph among the fountains...and remembering my last close encounter with straw. Suffice it to say, those bodice-ripper romances which feature a torrid encounter in the stable were written by women with a decidedly evil sense of humor, or robustly healthy constitutions which preclude allergic reactions. Kinda makes you wonder how many romantic encounters ensue with one partner staring on in slack-jawed amazement while the other is rapidly covered in large pink splotches... Enough! Me for the bubble bath and Epsom salts...