Happy Valentine’s Day From All Of Us At “Postcards From Tipsy”!!
It’s almost time for Mr. C. Cow to pull off his “love mission” to show his family appreciation. As he was decorating a picnic area I started to worry when he started pulling out the balloons. Visions of a billion balloons popping in harmony over dinner started going through my mind. Before I could cower at the thought he only used a few to set the “mood”. Your entire families ear drums thank you Mr. C.!
It’s almost time for our Valentine party so I must go and get ready for his picnic (not too many balloons) love party. I’ll let you all know how it goes tomorrow.
Happy Valentine’s Day!
SL photo taken by me
If you would like to read about why balloons are a sore spot then please check out yesterday’s postcard “Mission: Love” for all of the (loud) details.
Mr. C. Cow thought it a marvelous idea to inform me that he was holding a dinner party. My first response was to ask why we needed to hold a dinner party after we had held multiple parties though the holiday season. This past November through the first of January was nothing but appetizers, cocktails, and elegant dishes. Why did we need to hold a feast so soon after the holidays? Mr. C. Cow said it was because he wanted to wear a cummerbund. I don’t think he knows what a cummerbund is. I am assuming that he thinks it involves butter and cinnamon.
This declaration of banquet festivities puts me on the spot. I have to go and purchase all of the ingredients to make the food as well as the drinks for everyone to enjoy. After that is done I have to clean the entire house. I’m not talking a quick sweep and go but a full blown cleaning. The kitchen has to be spotless. Mr. C. Cow’s hoof prints have to be washed off of the dinning room ceiling. On top of the cleaning I have to inform Bishop that Mr. C. Cow is on a cummerbund mission and we have to throw a party that involves toothpicks holding together tiny foods. I will have to take our lil’ cow friend to buy the cummerbund he desires because has no clue what one is.
When Mr. C. Cow was properly introduced to a cummerbund he didn’t seem as thrilled as I thought he would be to wear it. He loved its lime green with purple stars design and the fit was good. I think Mr. C. thought he would look less like a waiter and more like an international spy in it. I’m hoping he’s not planning on trying to international-cow-of- mystery spy shop anytime soon.
As for the dinner party, it went surprisingly well. No one ate any of the toothpicks holding the tiny foods together. There were no cocktails spilled on the couch. I had a pleasant time and a clean house so I couldn’t complain. If Mr. C. Cow wants to throw another shindig in the (distant) future I’m all for it. Can’t let his lime green, purple star cummerbund sit in the closet too long.
It’s almost Thanksgiving in the states and we’ve been busy baking pies and tracing hand turkeys. Making a hand turkey is tough when you’ve got hooves or otter hands. Bishop makes a pretty wicked looking turkey with his giant polar bear paws. You have to lay out four pieces of paper just to make his whole hand fit.
Since Thanksgiving is all about giving thanks I asked everyone to share three things that they are thankful for.
Low wind days when you have to fly to the grocery store
Decent WiFi signals
Mr. C. Cow is thankful for…
Free snack vendors
We are all thankful for so many different things but have one thing in common. Each other. We are thankful to have each other. We’re also thankful for all of you that read our postcards every week. Without friendship, love, and all of you none of this would be possible.
Fall is in the air and it’s one of the best seasons of the year to hit up a farmers market.
I know that Summer is also a good time. Spring isn’t bad either. Autumn markets are the prime time for buying if you’re into the squash, pumpkins, and brussels sprouts. They are also great for those of us who have to plan a unique and enormous Thanksgiving holiday menu. When you have guests that don’t eat meat, are usually considered the “main entrée”, and won’t eat asparagus (Who doesn’t like asparagus??!!??) it can be a challenge.
Mr. C. Cow went with me on what he called my “squash quest” to start planning the holiday feast. I think he only wanted to come along because it involves food and questing. Anything that he considers a “quest” always needs a heroic cow sidekick. I don’t know how much protection I need on a “squash quest” but I’ll take the extra set of helping hoofs to carry groceries.
As luck has it I was able to get a good idea on what to serve this year without it involving meat or (sigh) asparagus. No warlocks tried to block my way to the market. Not a single booby trap was tripped while walking from the camper. We didn’t even see any forbidding signs telling us to “beware”. I think the quest protection was not needed but Mr. C. Cow said his being there was working.
Speaking of Mr. C. Cow, he seemed to find the whole farmers market thing amusing. Before you could say “But I like asparagus!” he was standing next to a cart juggling gourds. I don’t think the gourd seller appreciated it until I gave him a few dollars for the juggled produce. When Mr. C. attempted to trade an old shoestring he found in his pocket for an apple from an agitated orchard grower, I was able to distract him with snacks.
Holiday meal planning takes a lot of time and effort when you’re trying to do the best you can for all of your family and friends. I’m glad I have enough time to get a menu all planned out. Maybe Mr. C. Cow can resist the urge to haggle or juggle the next time we’re at a market and help me out. At least he kept me safe from warlocks.
Marslean is the one that asked that we not serve any asparagus at this years meal. I don’t think we’ve ever served it for Thanksgiving but she insisted it not be on the table. After explaining that it wasn’t even in season, she was still adamant that we not serve it. I’m going to have to find out if this is a taste thing or a fear thing. If it’s fear then would it be “asparagaphobia”?
I apologize for the lack of a postcard last week Thursday. Mr. C. Cow has been taking typing lessons and spend the entire day practicing. He’s trying to get his “words per minute” speed up from three to ten. Typing with hoofs can’t be easy and finding out that words like “dfa;ejoiardd” and “areraeasdereeee” are not real can be frustrating. Mr. C. could use “talk to type” but he’s determined to do it on his own. I’m glad he’s putting a little effort into it with the classes and practice.
Since Mr. C. Cow was preoccupied with his work, I spent the day at a petting zoo feeding the animals. I must say that I never thought this would be a relaxing way to pass the time. Normally this would be a stressed filled activity involving the feeding of wildlife as well as the feeding of Mr. C. I should call it “expensive and stressful”.
Being an otter, I am naturally curious as to why other animals choose the career path of professional zoo animal. A pro zoo animal is hard enough but being a pro petting zoo animal must be harder. Not only do you have to be on public display but people are always trying to pet you. I don’t even like it when someone touches my beehive. Germs is another reason why I could never take this type of work. Who knows where those hands have been!
I asked a lot of different animals why they decided to get into the professional petting zoo field. The chipmunks were all about the free food. A llama told me it was for the great dental benefits. One goat told me she was doing it to help pay for her liberal arts degree. I can understand the need to make a living. More power to all you zoo animals out there!
When I returned from my educational excursion, Mr. C. Cow was eating a peanut butter banana sandwich and watching old reruns of “As The Cowbell Tings”. Sneaking a peek at his timed typing practice quizzes, I noticed he increased his word count from three to a solid twelve. In celebration of his mastery over a keyboard I should take him to the petting zoo sometime. With extra food to keep the costs down and a cocktail to calm my nerves.
I’ve been to a lot of different kinds of bars before. Cocktail bars. Salad bars. I’ve even tasted a candy bar at the risk of losing my girlish otter figure. Mr. C. Cow has decided to “raise the bar” by finding us one that involves nachos.
When I think of a nacho bar, I keep picturing a bunch of cheesy tortilla chips kicking back, having a beer, discussing the pros and cons of jalapeños. I know this can’t be true as tortilla chips prefer to discuss the market price of tomatoes.
Mr. C. Cow, being smart in the food department, knows I’m just being silly and informs me that a nacho bar just involves the opportunity to make as many nachos as possible. If you want to eat fifty plates of nachos that are only covered in lettuce and salsa then knock yourself out. I don’t know how one could eat fifty plates but Mr. C. has goals.
I do have a bit of a nacho problem as I want to try all of the toppings but can’t seem to fit them onto one plate. Mr. C. Cow suggested I skip the tiny plates and use a hubcap from the camper instead. I don’t feel like washing cheese off of a hubcap so I’ll just skip the whole process. He can partake in the all you can eat while I find the type of bar that serves craft beers.
After I had a few libations, I felt it was time to call it a day. The camper was parked for the evening and I just wanted to go to bed. Mr. C. Cow wasn’t done making nachos so he decided to use a surfboard to carry his creations back to the camper. A surfboard is almost as ridiculous as a hubcap plate but a little more awkward due to length. How was he going to get it in the camper? How many nachos does it take to fill a surfboard? Is it safe to try to walk down stairs with a nacho surfboard?
To combat the stairs he kinda nacho surfed the board down, carefully, not losing a single jalapeño or chip. We should start a nacho surfing competition. Give out prizes for style. Points lost if you lose a topping.
On that note, I bid you all a good day but before I finish today’s postcard I want to leave you with a joke.
What do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese!
I’ve mentioned in the past how much I enjoy finding weird tourist attractions at the side of the road. Like the time we, randomly, found a gigantic pencil. Sometimes we are looking for things on the enormous/weird side, get sidetracked, then accidentally find it. Today is a great example of how one cow’s food related sidetracked mind led us to finding something that was both enormous and extra weird.
While searching for a gigantic roadside attraction, Mr. C. Cow was distracted by the delicious smell of popped corn. I know what you’re thinking. He’s always distracted by food. Well…ok…I can’t argue with that. Must have something to do with his whole “multiple stomaches/being a cow” thing. We had to stop because Mr. C. started drooling on the dashboard. A slobber covered dashboard is not only disgusting it’s also…it’s just disgusting.
While he munched happily on his bag o’ popped corn, I noticed that we were at some sort of festival/fair shindig. Barkers crying out for us to try to pop the balloon and win a prize. Giggles and screams coming from the people riding the “Ferret Wheel”….Ferret Wheel?
These ferrets manning the wheel were some of the biggest ferrets I have ever spied my little peepers on. Did they pump iron to get that big? Get stretched out like taffy? Mr. C. Cow, not being one of tact, outright asked them how they grew so tall. Genetics and a balanced breakfast was their answer. I wonder what kind of breakfast makes you that large! Have to say that these colossal creatures fit the roadside attraction mark perfectly.
As Mr. C. Cow munched and crunched his popped corn on the way back to the camper we ran into something that was not only immense but, somehow, lacked in the odor department. Two jumbo roadside attractions in one day??!!?? Our lucky day!!!
I have never, in the history of footwear, ever seen a high-heeled boot so large before. Mr. C. Cow does have a pair of REALLY TALL platform boots but these do not compare to the height of these mammoth boots. Just like the oversized ferrets, these got me thinking. Who is that tall that they need boots that big? How do they keep the foot odor down? Hefty sized odor protectors? Do these boots cost more than a house? Skyscraper? Skyscraper house? Can anyone, please, answer these questions??!!!?
Who runs this festival/fair shindig? Mr. C. Cow and I assume that it’s someone with a lot of money and big feet. If I was to attempt to put one of these boots on you would never see me again. I would fall into the endless, dark, boot pit. Mr. C. Cow thought that was too funny and wouldn’t stop moo-laughing at the idea of me falling to my doom. I didn’t think it was that funny.
When life gives you popped corn it sometimes throws in a pair of sizable footwear and some ferrets that eat a balanced breakfast.