Monday, June 6, 2011
Even though I would love nothing more than to live in a street, lined with doilied trees and would blink not an eye at possible neighbourhood wrath, I realised this would take some stretching of one tablecloth. Instead I directed the mischief and the doily-bombing at one of the school trees.
As usual, I failed abysmally at covert, guerilla-ness, arriving with my ladder during some random, round-robin footy match, which involved five teams and their associated spectating supporters. I calculate a possible 140 witnesses observed the great gust of wind that blew the ladder onto my head: DOINK! Ah, the tear-stained indignity.
The blood was shed while clinging to a wildly, swaying-in-the-gale tree and sewing through the denser tablecloth bits with a too-big, very stabby needle. I kept wondering where all the red paint was coming from. Next time I’m guerilla-ing I shall remember band aids. I meant to take a photo to induce the awe of the ouchie-obsessed three year old but forgot due to ladder-induced concussion.
Not a drop of sweat went into the cladding of a school tree in a doilied tablecloth. There was a wind chill factor of -27 degrees celsius. Rewardingly, my efforts did not go unappreciated by a now-warmer, resident cockroach:
and then the ladybird hung around for a leisurely hour-long chat.
After the last knot was tied, the final finger pricked and OUCH! squeaked, I stepped back to take photos. Then the tree, clad in new leggings, performed a languid, extreme-slow-motion cartwheel...
...or is that the concussion talkin’?
PS. I’ve been such a bad bloggy type lately – lots of real life getting in the way of a good ol’ catch up. I’m missing yez.