No, not A pickle, MY pickle. My youngest babygirl will be here tonight for the summer. She has to leave in August for school, so it's always a festive few short weeks.
*sigh* she's growing up. She made Show Choir at school (the flashy singing/dancing group who wear the really cool blue sequined outfits and top hats.) She's on the rifle squad at school, and Marching/Orchestra Band. She's in choir. AND, she's trying out for the tennis team this summer.
And therein lies my fun. I LOVE tennis. I am surrounded by people who don't want to play, or who have small children, which are no fun to have around while chasing balls around and trying not to pass out on the court.
Pickle plays a mean game; she has the trash-talk thing with me going on. (Um, yea, I do the same to her.) She can ALMOST beat me. I'd be willing to bet this is the year she does. Yannow, since I'm apparently now old and fat. Anyhow, she gives me a run for my money.
So I'm gonna grab the rackets, get me a new bag of balls - oh stop it! - and we're gonna play after supper tonight. Heh. Bag of balls. Reminds me of a bag of burgers and a pickle in a package. I seriously need to find someone to occupy my time.
More updates from the hospital tomorrow...