Chuck’s camping for the week (I swear he drugged me and I drooled out a “yes” when he asked if he could go), so this morning my friend and I are taking our toddlers to majestic Buttonwood Farm for a hayride through the sunflowers.
After I stopped laughing hysterically at the hokey song on the website (click it, you’ll see what I mean), I allowed myself to get all goofy with how purdy and picturesque it could be.
Can’t you see it? Wet cow patties warmed by the sun. Smelly hay poking you in the ass. Connecticut’s haze and humidity beating down on your gnat-swarmed face. Junior shouting, “It’s mine!” at every passing sunflower.
Then there’s the asthma thing. My friend has already warned me that if her daughter has any problems breathing because of the hay, we are jumping off the wagon and booking it back to the car.
Today is starting to look a little like this in my mind:
Buttonbutt Farm? Your sweet taste of the country better be super sweet. Cause it's been a long week.
This is my first installment of "When the hub’s away, Mrs. Mullet will..." series, which will chronicle my adventures while my good-for-nothing husband frolics in the woods all week. You want excitement? Get it here, baby.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.