Bag Lady saw the most amazing signs on a bathroom wall this week. Things of beauty. And fact. And shark pee.
And then there were the near-snakes. And the red squirrels. And the you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me spam email.
You talkin’ to me?
Anyone with an Internet connection is conditioned to expect some level of email spam, and here at the SJ we receive a daily note of the lint and irrelevant sundries trapped by our filters. They’re usually good for a chuckle, a puzzle, a whatever.
Bag Lady can ignore all the sexual overtures without blinking. I’ve no clue who could possibly be running so many alleged background checks on lil ‘ol me. (Not that they’ll find anything. Except for that one time. With the roller skates and the butane.)
The ones that offer “Lose 3 pounds every day!” clearly don’t factor in the fact that, at some point, one would blink from existence.
I read: “Do THIS When a Gun is Pointed at Your Head.” And without clicking, I’m assuming one should duck.
But this one actually got a rise:
“Large and Ugly? Get the best solution!”
Darn. This is click bait? It’s so rancid, I can’t fathom who would possibly be enticed. You know what? You’re lovely. I’m lovely. Moving on.
Note to self
Lettuce does not last forever.
I, clearly, have not gotten this message as I find myself composting a full, unopened head bought with the best of intentions every other week. Our red squirrels love us. They leave notes on my foggy car windows written in squirrel:
“Big thanks. Adores. Nuts soon.”
Mr. Bag Lady threw open the doors to our bulkhead last weekend to let in a serviceman and discovered a half-dozen snake skins on the top step. Long, lanky husks belonging to now-longer, lankier snakes who are, as we sit here, syphoning oil from the tank, snaking up my wrapping paper and wiggling on neat piles of shingles. Because they must, right?
I’ve been walking into the basement this week and daring anything to move lest I shriek it to death.
The Maine State Aquarium closed its doors for the season last weekend — too much frost on its sharks, I’m guessing. Sadly, that means a six-month wait before you can pet the starfish, clams or sharks, and before you can check out the aforementioned ladies’ room.
It is as bathroomesque as one would expect a state bathroom facility to be but with one noteworthy exception: Fast facts on the walls, such as sharks can pee through their skin! Lobsters pee through their faces! And, guy lobsters have peeing contests to impress lady lobsters! So much dinner party fodder there.
After a recent visit, I walked out and amazed (aghast?) Mr. Bag Lady.
“They had what on the walls?”
I would never have expected such bathroom humor. Two fins up.
They’ll open again next May. Mark your calendars! Um. In the non-lobster way.
You’ve got to be knitting me
After writing about Fiber and Vine’s open knit night two weeks ago, we learned from a reader that the Auburn Public Library also has a knitting/crocheting/needleworking group that meets the second and fourth Monday of every month from 5 to 7 p.m. We’d be remiss if we didn’t give it a shout-out. Go, knit, be merry.
So there’s this new rolling, statewide campaign called Shop Second Saturday. It’s all about shopping locally and sweet one-day sales falling, as the name suggests, on the second Saturday of the month.
Participants last month included Lewiston’s Downtown Handmade & Vintage ($5 off printed tees), Tea Maineia in Winterport (buy three, get one free) and the enjoyably named What the Frock, a high-end dress consignment store in Portland (15 percent off entire purchase).
Check out the site, print, splurge and save.
As the squirrels say, adores.
Bag Lady’s true identity is protected by a pair of stylish, sweater-wearing Doberman pinschers (who have amazing self-esteem, being cooler and barkier than any dog on the block) and the Customer Service counter at the Sun Journal. You can reach her at firstname.lastname@example.org.