Mr. C. Cow is holiday OBSESSED when it comes to Christmas. As soon as Thanksgiving leftovers are put away he’s already putting up the holiday tree. He’s baked five dozen sugar cookies before breakfast the next morning. By lunchtime he’s somehow managed to wrap his cow horns in wrapping paper. I’m cool with his need to start decorating but it drives Marslean a tad bit nuts. Especially when she comes home to find the pillows on her bed neatly wrapped.
On top of his holiday enthusiasm, we always go through the entire month of December camper traveling to find Santa Claus. It was done last year and the year before that. Searching for Ol’ Saint Nick is just something that Mr. C. Cow feels he has to do. A letter or email won’t do when he wants to discuss how he’s behaved (mostly) the entire year. This also drives Marslean crazy. She’s attempted to explain to him that an email is perfectly fine. Nope. Emailing is not going to happen. (Does Mr. C. Cow have an email?) We’re on the lookout for the jolly guy in the red suit once again.
Maybe we can get Marslean to go with us on a few of our Santa hunting adventures. It might make her appreciate Mr. C. Cows fascination with the red suited man. It would help me out because there would be two of us trying to chase after him as he’s running after a sleigh.
The 4th of July is coming up in the states next week and it’s going to be a busy one. We’ll all be at home and Mr. C. Cow and I plan on doing a lot of cooking. He’s been pouring over cookbooks for the perfect deserts to go with grilled veggies while I’m trying to figure out how to light the grill. I’ve used a gas grill before but it’s been YEARS since I’ve attempted to use charcoal. Bishop might have to be in charge of the grill lighting. I’m afraid I’ll catch my giant beehive on fire.
Speaking of fire, we’re planning on letting Marslean handle the fireworks this year. Last year Mr. C. Cow was holding a sparkler and got a teeny tiny little burn on his hoof. It was so tiny that it probably hurt for a second. Despite the small injury, Mr. C. acted like his entire leg had caught on fire. We had to wrap all of his legs in gauze just to get him to stop crying. Marslean said there will be no sparklers this year. I think that’s a wise decision.
Since everyone seems to have a job to do to get ready for the holiday I’m at a loss as to where I am needed. I tried to move the picnic table in the shade but it was too big and heavy. Bishop and Mr. C. Cow had to move them around. I was going to get the nice tablecloth and place mats out but Marslean beat me to it. The only thing I’ve done so far is that awesome table centerpiece.
Mr. C. Cow sensed the lost look on my face and offered to let me help him do a bit of baking. I would but he’s really good at it. He can lay down a good fondant on a cake while I find myself tangled up in it like some sort of sugary trap. After a few minutes of sitting under a tree with a therapeutic martini, I decided that I am taking on the appetizers. I can crostini like a boss.
Sometimes we feel left out because we think our skills aren’t useful. It might take a martini rest under a tree before we find out that we are useful. All of us have something to offer.
All photos taken in Second Life at my personal home by me.
Mr. C. Cow has never had the opportunity to use one of those coin operated binoculars before. You know the ones I’m talking about. The ones that you sometimes see on the boardwalk where you can throw a few coins in to look out at the ocean. He thought it was funny that he had to pay money to use something he referred to as a “peeper enhancer”. I told Mr. C. that it beats carrying his big binoculars around the boardwalk.
Before using any “peeper enhancers” we stopped for a bite to eat.
While waiting for his alfalfa burger and hay shake, Mr. C. Cow decided to use the back of his place mat to draw a picture of what he thought we would see through the coin operated binoculars. I’m thinking he’s going to draw a picture of a ship or a dolphin. I was so completely off the mark that it’s not even funny. What do you think Mr. C. Cow would draw? A shark? A shark riding a whale? A dolphin riding a shark riding a whale? Not even close! Mr. C. thought that we might see….THIS…..
It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s…I’m totally joking! I think it’s a punk rocking octopus who just happens to be shaped like a beach ball. But…it has like…six eyes! Would that make it a punk octo-beach-bug? A mohawk wearing jelly roll of the sea? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of these floating around the ocean.
Mr. C. Cow explained to me that it was a sea monster, although it preferred to be called “sea awesome” rather than “monster”. I doubted we would see one through a coin operated set of binoculars but what do I know? There are a lot of things in the ocean that are yet to be discovered.
Alas, we did not see a giant octopus bug squid beach ball with great hair. We did, however, see a shark riding a whale. I’m not sure if I’m really all that surprised to see a shark on a whale because I was, in all honesty, half expecting the octo-buggy-tapus-punk rocker. When it comes to the imagination of Mr. C. Cow it’s hard to not get carried away by it. My mind now wonders if there might be such a thing as an opera singing turtle with a pompadour. There could even be a dolphin wearing hipster glasses and telling us he was jumping out of the water doing flips before it was cool.
When I grow up (HAHAHA!) I want to explore the ocean. Or at least find the punk-tapus.
I had to do a bit of shopping the other day because SOMEBODY used all of our cooking spray to lube up their roller skate wheels. Mr. C. Cow decided to stay behind in the camper and do a bit of laundry. I’m proud that he wanted to take part in the daily chores and was more than happy to let him wash stuff. Before I left I explained that, since this was a camper, the washer/dryer unit was small so please don’t over soap or over stuff the machines. After repeating myself a few times I felt more then comfortable to go forth in search of cooking spray.
When I returned my happiness was short-lived. Mr. C. Cow decided to do a GIGANTIC load of comically large neckties in one load. Separating laundry, in his mind, meant doing all of one type of clothing at one time in the washer. The washing machine didn’t know what to do with all of these comically large neckties so it decided to just spit soap bubbles all over the place. The walls. The stove vent. The glove box. If we had wanted to wash the entire inside of the camper then this was the way to go.
After much bubble shoveling and opening of windows and doors to air dry we needed a place to do the rest of the laundry. We also needed a place to stay for the night. I didn’t feel like sleeping in a squishy camper.
We were lucky enough to find a nice quiet place where they, not only had a laundry room, but the perfect place to sleep for the night.
Mr. C. Cow set up the campsite for the evening while I did the rest of the laundry. While his comically large neckties were in the dryer I started pondering his collection. There was a giant neon banana necktie and one that looked like a fish. When did he start getting a collection? I can’t remember the last time he even wore a necktie. Maybe Mr. C. Cow was considering dressing up more. Or he could be thinking about starting a prop comedy career. You never know what Mr. C. is thinking sometimes.
The campsite was beautiful and we, sincerely, were more than happy to spend the night among the stars. A laundry mishap turned into a beautiful evening.
We need to stop and remember that not everyone knows how to do everything. Something as simple as laundry might not be so simple if you’ve never done it on your own. All those buttons, knobs, timers, and soap measuring can be confusing. I’m not mad at Mr. C. Cow in any way for making the camper soapy. He tried his hardest and that’s really all that matters to me. Besides, the camper now smells wonderful and we had the opportunity to hang out, together, under the stars. What more could I really ask for?
Do to an incident in the camper involving a certain little cow and a wee bit of tie-dye I was in desperate need of toothpaste. (Mine got dyed and ruined!) After a rough nights sleep we hit the closest town to replace my dental hygiene product. This otter right here cannot take one day without having clean teeth and minty fresh breath. It’s right up there on the importance scale around the need to wash your hands and not putting sad-looking, cheap olives in a good martini.
When we had arrived in town we were greeted by a deserted storefront with nothing to offer except for a few cockroaches and dust balls. No toothpaste to be found amongst their inventory! Mr. C. Cow offered to ask the cockroaches where we could purchase our much-needed item but I rejected this idea. They looked a little busy scurrying around the dust balls.
As we left the building to regroup and come up with a dental game plan Mr. C. wanted to ride on the sorriest looking mechanical horse I have ever seen.
I was lucky that the horse was out-of-order as I wasn’t carrying any quarters on me. The horse also looked like no one had bothered to sanitize it in, around, a million years. Who knows what could be attached to the reins????
We looked around town and started to realize that there were no other souls to be found. It felt like the whole place had been through an explosion of filth wrapped up in a post-apocalyptic bow. Not a soul was to be seen for miles. This had me worried. If the place looked like it had been through the muck blender of life then there was no way we were going to find toothpaste. I don’t even think we could find a tissue if we needed to blow our nose.
Mr. C. Cow, the eternally optimistic cow, was determined to find me a replacement toothpaste. Something that was full of breath freshening, teeth cleaning goodness. I was starting to think that we might need to high-tail it back to the camper and just drive to the next town. The idea was starting to sound better and better by the moment until Mr. C. found a small cafe to stop and grab a bite to eat. The place looked like the health department condemned it but he thought it looked “charismatic”.
Before I could say “salmonella” Mr. C. Cow was in full gallop to see what this “charismatic” cafe had to offer. Before you could say “stomach virus” he galloping back out of the cafe moo-crying and shaking. What had scared my little cow so? I, carefully, peeked into the building to see why he was galloping for his life. I found….THIS!
My teeth could wait to be brushed. My dentist would understand if I skipped one brushing today. That cafe that scared Mr. C. Cow moo-less was the last straw. We quickly ran back to the camper and sped out of there like our lives depended on it. Maybe it did! No people. No toothpaste. Skeletons eating skeletons. Dental hygiene can wait fifty miles to the next town.
Earlier last week Mr. C. Cow and I had that whole debate about if it was a good idea to fall into a pit/hole or not. Mr. C, for argument’s sake, took the good idea while I said that holes were not meant to be fallen into.
This week feels like the pit debate 2.0 because I find myself telling Mr. C. Cow that not all doorways/cave openings/entrances are safe to walk through. If it has giant teeth or looks like it might crunch you into tiny bits then I’ll pass. Mr. C. said that entrances were not made for one to simply not enter through them. Deja vu? I think I have it.
I know Mr. C. Cow is just “moo-ing” with me and would never walk into an entryway that looked like a one way ticket to being someones snack. How did we get started on this discussion of dangerous entranceways? It all started with a need to find a motel for the night.
Mr. C. had decided that our camper sink was the perfect place to tie-dye stuff. I had, repeatedly, told him that he needed to do that outside of the camper as to not make a mess. Three t-shirts, one floppy hat, and a tote bag later had proven my point. There was dye everywhere! It was in the ceiling fan flinging all over the shower curtain. Mr. C. Cow had somehow tie-dyed our toilet and my tube of toothpaste was no longer safe for brushing. This little foray into the tie-dying world cost Mr. C. five hours of cleaning time plus the need to replace my toothpaste.
After the extensive dye cleaning we were both exhausted. Instead of sleeping in the camper for the night we decided to treat ourselves to fluffy pillows and room service at a five-star hotel. The problem was the fact that we couldn’t find one. All we found was a motel with a no vacancy sign. Too exhausted to drive any father we decided to find a nice place to stop for the night.
When we arrived at a camping area we were greeted by a some sort of strange carnival going on next door. That’s when we started debating the whole entrance thing. Everywhere you went in this carnival every entranceway seemed to either want to snarf you down or scare the moo right out of you.
I was deathly afraid of sleeping next to some sort of freaky fair of mayhem but Mr. C. Cow informed me that it would be ok. For all of his funny business he always seems to, no matter where we are, keep us all safe. I think it’s some sort of magical cow talent. I trusted him and we went back to the camper to sleep.
The next morning we drove into the nearest town in search of toothpaste and to replenish our supply of bathroom cleaner. The town turned out to be….not as pleasant as we were hoping.
Let’s hope none of the entrances in this town treat us like furry popcorn treats.
Mr. C. Cow and I are back on the road! After staying around the shop for a few days helping out Bishop it was time to get back into the camper. Before we could go too far we needed to stock up on some camper supplies.
I, usually, let Mr. C. Cow handle the shopping but I pitched in with the grocery list this time around. Mr. C. is good at finding really good sales but always seems to come home with one or two items we didn’t need. (Dish soap cozy, plastic bag holder shaped like a chicken, ANOTHER milk can) Since our list was so large it wasn’t fair to let him try to handle it alone. I was on fruit and vegetable duty while he was in charge of the paper items.
After spending a few moments locating produce bags to place fruit in Mr. C. Cow came back with a “super jumbo apocalyptic” pack of toilet paper. “Apocalyptic” toilet paper? Yes…because the slogan on the side of the toilet paper read “When the end comes don’t come to the end of your toilet paper”. That could, possibly, be the worst marketing slogan I had ever heard. Mr. C. thought it was hilarious and wanted us to buy this particular pack.
Now…we were in need of toilet paper but there was no way I was buying this pack. It wasn’t because of the cheesy slogan but because the pack contained 5,001 rolls of toilet paper. I guess that, when the end does come, that one extra roll will make a difference. Where were we going to put this much toilet paper? Mr. C. Cow said we could open it up and put it under the sink in the bathroom. I, calmly, explained that it wouldn’t fit. He suggested that we put some in the glove box. I, not as calmly, explained to him that we needed the glove box for maps, breath mints, and our cars papers. (Also…5,001 rolls of tp will not fit in a glove box.) When he started telling me how we could tie the whole pack onto the roof with bungee cords I had to tell him to go get a smaller pack. Mr. C. came back with 100 rolls of toilet paper and told me that, if the end comes, we’re going to be up some sort of creek without a paddle. I’ll take the risk.
After we had put our purchases in the camper and drove off I started to think about the end of the world and how we might run into a toilet paper crisis. What if Mr. C. Cow is right and I might have doomed us to using leaves when we do our “business”? What if we need the toilet paper tubes to start a fire? Why am I even pondering this?
Maybe we should start using a grocery delivery service.
Photos taken by moi in Second Life. (Click here to learn what Second Life is if you don’t know)