Parental Invasion, Mark 2

So Dad's business trip, which prompted Mom to come a couple weeks back (and Dad had to postpone instead of coming with) is on for this coming week. He'll be here tomorrow.

Um. Eep?

It's business, and down in Olympia, so he won't be hovering, and he's not so judgemental about my living conditions as Mom (well, for starters, he's a guy, and Mom's either getting better, or I am. :) Where was I? Dinner at the least, and I'll nudge him until the tip is large enough. I'll get more of him (and Mom) come Thanksgiving, and maybe Christmas, depending on how vacations fall out. So far I've been forward-looking enough to get first dibs on such things as the Friday after Veteran's Day.

I've about given up on finding my cats' claw clipper. It's been MIA for long enough that scimitars of death that come out when Hobbes gets snuggly. I'll buy one tonight when I wander down Kris-wards to take care of her cats.

Drive-by pastrying

A few hours and a movie later and I'm over the first shock, but I'm still rather incensed.

I was waiting by the bus stop coming home from taking care of Kris' cats, and someone (I'll save the litany of curses for another time) hit me with a frosted doughnut. Tossed it out of their car (which, as they were doing at least 40, packed quite the punch) and hit me on the hip. Assault by pastry! Can you imagine?

I didn't even see it coming, just the smack against my side (I'd been indulging in house porn - one of those home&land magazines - under the streetlamp) and looked down and saw the thing at my feet. I stood there staring at it for an age, because who the hell tosses pastries out the window? I was prepared for a rock or something, but the copious frosting completely stole any sort of presence of mind necessary to capture the license plate.

The frosting was chocolate, and now I have to wash that jacket.

Also, the film I watched was Gosford Park, and now my mental voice has a British accent.