The One About the "Thing" About Walmart

A friend of mine is getting married in a couple weeks and her shower is later this afternoon. She is registered at Walmart. Most people I know don't have a problem with Walmart. I, on the other hand, have this "thing" about Walmart. It's an undocumented medical condition. Some people have diabetes or high blood pressure...and I have this "thing" about Walmart.

I'm not sure when I first started showing symptoms, but with each episode the symptoms are at least ten times worse than the prior occurence. The treatment is actually quite simple. In fact, much more simple than treating diabetes or high blood pressure. I don't have to take any pills or inject myself with insulin. I just need to stay the [blank] away from Walmart. On most days, that's pretty easy...until you find out your friend's bridal registry is there.

The shower invitation arrived about two weeks ago so I've had ample time to work myself into a snit about the whole affair. I actually checked my blood pressure the other day and it was 125/77. My BP is rarely over 110/70-ish! I have seriously been obsessing about this for 14 solid days. I even begged asked Zack to go for me. He said no. He's concerned that this "thing" could be hereditary (like diabetes or high blood pressure) and doesn't want to risk it. I don't blame him.

When I got out of bed this morning, I realized that I had pretty much procrastinated as much as possible so I went to Walmart's website to check things out. Logging into the gift registry was pretty easy, I'll give them that. Up popped my friend's name with a link to her list of wanted items. The first on the list--a folding lug wrench. Honest to God. That's when I felt the first twinge. In hindsight, I should have said to hell with the registry and gone to Target to purchase a nice picture frame or candlesticks. Why I didn't will remain one of the great unsolved mysteries of 2011.

I called Randy to discuss the requested items and eventually settled on 20" electric griddle. That's when I noticed that Walmart now offers a "pick up today" service. I could purchase the item online and then pick it up at customer service within 4 hours thus minimizing the time I would have to spend in the store. The other benefit is that the item is immediately marked off the registry as "purchased" so I wouldn't run the risk of getting to Walmart only to find out that someone else had already snagged the griddle. I like it. So I made the purchase and patiently waited for the text message alerting me that the item was ready. I fussed about the house, ran a load of laundry, did a little work on the eight Christmas socks I'm knittng for a client (see? this really is about knitting) and then the text message arrived.

The drive to Walmart was uneventful. I ignored numerous signs indicating yard sales because I knew that the slightest distraction from my goal could end up with a Walmart employee wondering why a dusty griddle has been on the pick up shelf for the past 3 years. Focus. Breathe. Drive.

The parking lot. Breathe. I had to park about a 1/4 mile away from the store. Dodging pedestrians and abandoned carts, I found a suitable spot. I gathered my wits about me, said a little prayer and left the sanctuary of my car.

Eye contact at Walmart only exaserbates the symptoms. My first eye contact encounter was with a young teen who was walking to the car with his father. I was navigating a straight line to the door and this teenager, for no apparent reason, stepped directly into my path. He was deathly skinny, pallid and pimply, wore a plaid baseball cap cocked to one side, oversized jacket, chains, super dark blue jeans (I will give him credit for wearing them above his ass), and monsterous orange and lime green tennis shoes. Seriously, New Kids on the Block called and said that the Back Street Boys want their silly clothes back. I glared and stepped aside only slightly changing my trajectory, the entrance was still in sight.

When I got inside, I paused. It wasn't that bad...it wasn't that good either, but maybe I could suck it up and hurry to the back of the store to see if they had any Iams Naturals dog food in stock. Kroger doesn't carry the large bags and I'll be darned if I'm going to pay $12.59 for a small bag of the only dog food on the planet that doesn't give my dog gas. I was totally out of Iams. Poor Sophie had been eating the Rachel Rae brand and Zack and I were suffering the consequences. (Don't breathe.) Realizing that I could kill two birds with one stone, I ventured deeper into the store. Directly in my path were two people in white lab coats standing at a table display and offering free blood pressure screening. Hell. No. I quickly diverted before they had a chance to make eye contact. I'm sure had they strapped a BP cuff on my arm I would have ended up in the ER with a BP reading of 220/175. Focus. Breathe.

Trying not to gawk at the horrendous wardrobe decisions of my fellow Walmart shoppers, I reached the dog food aisle with minimal conflict. I didn't think to get a cart as I walked in the store, so I hoisted the bag ($17.97) under my arm, balancing it on my hip and proceeded to the front of the store to pay for my purchase. I arrived at the express checkout just as the cashier made eye contact with me and sauntered away. She didn't turn her light off, nor did she offer any explanation. I moved over three registers (because even though the parking lot is at maximum capacity, Walmart only has 4 open check out lines). As I was setting down the dog food bag, the express cashier sauntered back to her register and motioned that she could now ring up my purchase. So, I moved back over three registers and paid for the dog food. Knowing that carrying an un-bagged item out of the store would surely get me stopped, I made sure my receipt was handy so I could show proof of payment.

With the dog food under my arm, I proceeded the few steps to customer service and got in line. It was mayhem. Only one person was actually working even though there were three perfectly good customer service stations at the counter. But I guess the other employee who was wandering aimlessly back and forth behind the girl who was doing time working couldn't see the other two stations because they were covered with returned crap. Who returns flour? and soup? I waited. The first trickle of sweat occurred when a woman and her two young children started feeding bags of loose change into the coin counter machine. The children didn't fully understand the process and started screaming as mommy dumped all the shiny money into the hopper. When the woman in front of me finished her transaction, which took an inordinate amount of time because she swore she had the receipts yet couldn't produce them, I retrieved my order confirmation and got my driver's license handy. I stepped up to the counter and politely announced, "I'm here to pick up an online order." Pause. The cashier decided it was time to shift the returned sacks of flour and cans of soup. She looked at me with full eye contact and told me that pickups were at the back of the store. I pointed to my confirmation that clearly indicated that I pick up my item at CUSTOMER SERVICE and told her what was stated on said confirmation. She continued to shuffle flour and soup. Through clenched teeth I spat, "I. Hate. Walmart.", snatched up the dog food, spun around and proceeded to trudge to the back of the store. Deja Vu.

That's when the full force of the "thing" I have about Walmart hit me. My hands started to shake, and I'm pretty sure I was panting too. Then I started to sweat. It was a drenching panic sweat. By the time I reached the back of the store (again) I was soaking wet. This is the worst "thing" I have ever had. I kept muttering my mantra, "I hate Walmart", under my breath as I located the online pickup customer service desk. I was third in line.

I really couldn't tell who was was currently being helped so I just stood there and willed myself to quit sweating. It didn't work, and my stress over the panic sweat seemed to be making it worse. Distraction might help, so I studied my fellow Walmart shoppers. The man directly in front of me was trying to figure out how to get a pack of diapers, diaper bag, diaper pail, wipes and an entire freaking CRIB in his cart. Had I not been worried about leaving a sweat puddle on the floor I probably would have been more amused by his unsuccessful grasp of spacial relationships. The woman in front of crib guy was looking through recently developed photographs with her boyfriend, Sasquatch. They had 8 envelopes of photos and she was only going to pay for the photographs she wanted. Oh joy. As they stood at the counter, perused and discussed their photos and as dude with the crib tried to rearrange his cart one more time, the cashier at the CUSTOMER SERVICE desk didn't have the notion to wait on the soaking wet woman holding a large bag of dog food.

Girl friend and sasquatch finally decided upon 15 photographs...out of all the 8 envelopes. The cashier was stumped. She couldn't figure out how to ring up just 15 photographs so she had to call for help. More sweating. My hair was getting wet. Once the photo order was totalled, girl friend and sasquatch had to dig through their pockets for enough change to pay for the photos. Crib guy was still rearranging his cart as the photographers left, and I looked at him expectantly like, "it's your turn dude, chop chop!" Come to find out he had already been helped, he just hadn't relinquished his place in line. I sidestepped the cart and two large crib boxes and announced, for the second time, that I was here to pick up an online order. The employee who had come to rescue earlier took my name and disappeared through the double doors. The cashier asked for my name and I said, "Lannan. L-A-N-N-A-N." From years of experience I know that I need to spell my name for people so they don't replace the last A with an O. She looked at me quizzically and asked, "Is that your first name?" Hmm. I haven't been asked that one before. "No, it's my last name. L - A - N - N - A - N." Five times. That's how many times I had to spell my LAST name for her. Breathe. Wipe away the sweat. The final time was nothing short of a growl. L.........A...........N...........N...........A...........N. I even scared myself. The employee who disappeared through the double doors reappeared...empty handed. "No, we don't have anything back there, what are you picking up?" Again, I wiped at the sweat rolling down my face, pointed to the now rather damp and crumpled confirmation and told him it was a griddle I had ordered just this morning. "Oh, a pick-up-today. That's in a different location." I nearly lost control of all bodily functions and then he walked back through the double doors. Wait. He wasn't telling me that I needed to go to another location, he was the one who needed to go to a different location. Breathe. The cashier finally entered my name correctly and was able to print my receipt. I signed for the item as it was bagged and handed to me.

With both receipts in one hand, car keys in the other (with my thumb already on the unlock button), and dog food and griddle under each arm, I made my way back to the front of the store making sure to totally bypass the free BP screening table. As much as I tried not to make eye contact, I did notice that I got several questioning looks. Seriously,I was soaking wet with sweat stains under my arms and down my back, my bangs were stuck to my forehead, and sweat was rolling down my face and arms. Had I been the one monitoring the security cameras for Walmart at that particular moment, I would have been watching me very closely. I got to the exit without being approached by Walmart security and presented my two folded up, very wet receipts to the woman guarding the door. She took them, didn't unfold them and only glanced at the back of first receipt. She handed them back and motioned for me to proceed out the door. Really? This is how a couple successfully walked out of a Walmart last week with a $500 computer, which they didn't pay for, in their cart. The authorities called it theft. I call it stupidity and carelessness on Walmart's part. Be that as it may...I made it. I nearly broke into a run., but the dog food was weighing me down. Once I was in the sanctuary of my car, I turned the A/C on full blast and waited for the panting, shaking and sweating to subside. I was a complete mess. All this for a stinking bag of dog food and an electric griddle.

After a glass of wine, another shower, and fresh (dry) clothes, I proceeded to my friend's party. She received a lot of nice gifts to go with the griddle--coffee maker, vacuum, dishes and a folding lug wrench.

The One About Pestilence

Cicadas.

The brood has emerged.

It started (at my house anyway) about 6 days ago. I figured something was amiss when my dog wouldn't come in the house after nearly an hour. She's a "take care of business as quickly as possible and go back in the house for a treat" kind of dog. So when she wouldn't come in the other night, I thought she was just trying to get The Mole. When I went out to coax her inside, she was frantically nosing about the grass while chewing. Yes, freshly emerged cicada larvae. So so nasty.

There is such a thing as too many cicadas, just like there can be too much of a good thing. If a dog eats too many (of anything), nature takes over and assists the dog in getting rid of whatever it is there is too much of. Nature usually prefers that this happen on a rug. Again...so so nasty.

For those of you unfamiliar with the nasty little red-eyed buggers, they emerge every 13 years. Seriously. I can't make this up, and it is as nasty and disgusting as it sounds. They come out of the ground in a more or less larval-looking stage. They move pretty slowly, hence the ability of a household pet to easily over indulge. The larvae that are lucky enough to be spared the digestive tract of my dog, climb up trees, walls, telephone poles, plants, anything vertical and shed this brown crusty looking shell. I think it's called an exoskeleton. I call it disgusting. The newly emerged cicadas hang out for a while on the tree, pole, house, whatever, until the time suits them and they start screeching and flying about. Then they eat. I guess they eat leaves and such, but they're not like locusts that decimate all vegetation. (The only good thing about this whole cicada business.) So after they get done eating, they mate. Yahoo. I pray to God that I never witness this act because I'm sure that after 13 years underground it's rather frantic. Can you imagine? When the mating is over they ladies chew little nests into small tree branches and lay their eggs. Then she dies, but I'm not sure when the dude dies. I'm not curious enough to look it up. Baby cicada nymphs hatch. They fall from the tree branches and burrow into the ground and wait for another 13 years.

This is "freak of nature" type of stuff. My yard is covered with literally THOUSANDS of nasty brown shells, which means my dog hasn't put a dent in the cicada population. She doesn't much like the mature cicadas because they buzz when she puts them in her mouth. Really. Gag.

Oh, and I haven't really discussed the noise they make when they are all worked up. I can only guess this is the mating call. It sounds like someone recorded a lawn mower, weed whacker, chainsaw, blower and ambulance then upped the volume by 428% and played it back at a higher speed so the pitch is somewhere near highly annoying and deafening.

Did I mention that this whole cicada cycle lasts for 3 to 4 weeks?

The one about April showers

Here I sit...next to a terrified dog in a house with no electricity. I am writting this with my thunbs because the only internet acceess I have is via my cell phone. Yes folks, I am that bored!

Today`s storms knocked down trees and caused a power outage for about 70,000 NES customers...me being one of them.

Too dark to knit. Too dark to do much of anything. Surfing the web on a phone is hardly worth the effort. May I`ll plat solitaire on my laptop until the battery runs out.

Wow. This is living!

p.s. hope all my middle TN buddies are safe and damage free!

The One About SPRING

What the @#*$&^!

I had to scrape the windshield this morning, a task I find seriously offensive when undertaken in the season commonly referred to as SPRING. And especially when a furry little groundhog said that SPRING would arrive early. Stupid, lying, evil rodent.

Did you know that Walgreens does not stock gloves in SPRING? Why I know this... Zack had a ballgame last night. Unlike last week which was "glorious weather for baseball" and not SPRING, last night sucked out loud. It was about 45 and windy. My gloves were AWOL so I stopped by Walgreens hoping to find a pair on clearance. Nope. Sunglasses, sunscreen and flipflops. Items one needs for SPRING.

My next car will have heated seats. A certain part of my anatomy my ass didn't thaw completely until 3:47am. Yes, must have heated seats.

Remind me about this in July when a certain part of my anatomy my ass is melting.

Did I mention that Zack plays tonight? Have you looked out the window?

Current temp: 45

All the shiny areas are wet. The dark spots in the sky are rain drops on the window. Dare I ask if it could it suck more?

The One About Spring Break

Before I continue let me make one thing perfectly clear--this post is NOT about wet t-shirt contests, body shots and beer bongs (not that I would know about those things). I had to clarify, mainly because I get a kick out of imaging what people will think when they land on my site thinking they're going to get much needed info on the finer points of a wet t-shirt. (Ha!) Sorry if I disappointed anyone, but you spend spring break your way and I'll spend it mine.

Baseball. The high school season officially started and Hume-Fogg played two games last week. Glorious weather for baseball!

Prom. This took me by surprise! I got a text message from Zack earlier in the week that said "going 2 prom. need tux." You can only imagine the barrage of questions I laid on that poor kid, but I couldn't help it! The abbreviated version: they're friends, she's been waiting for him to ask, he took too long to ask, so her friend told him to ask, he asked, she said yes. It's in 2 weeks.

Employment. Another big surprise. A friend told me that her son-in-law was hiring concession workers for Nashville Sounds games. Zack stopped by the Sounds' office, talked to the concession manager, got hired on the spot. A pretty good deal for a kid who can't get enough baseball.

Campus visit. Zack went on his first campus visit at Tennessee Tech. We got a full tour of the campus, talked to one of the baseball coaches, and got to see a baseball game. Western Kentucky is next.

Fiber. Yes, I saved the good stuff for last. I have been dyeing fiber all week trying to get ready for the Middle Tennessee Fiber Festival (in Dickson over Memorial Day weekend). I've got a booth this year and I'm teaching two knitting classes. I can't help but wonder what the hell I was thinking committing to both. I believe my booth will be in the Greer building.

The week began with silk hankies. This stack took 3 evenings. I have another couple pounds on order. Hankies (or mawata) are a blast to spin, or you can knit the roving as is. (See how to on Knitty.) I'm working on a simple wrist warmer pattern to go with the hankies. Come to the Fiber Festival and I'll have some samples so you can try spinning or knitting with them.


Yesterday and today it was all about sock yarn. My hands are totally destroyed. I wear rubber gloves, but I always end up with multi-colored finger nails. It looks like a took a hammer to my pinky finger...such a lovely shade of purple-ish black. Luckily, the weather this weekend was GORGEOUS so I was able to do all my color mixing, dripping and spilling outside. I enjoy dyeing outside because the messier I am the better the colors come out. The light is better also.


Oh, so I mentioned that I'm going to teach classes, but I neglected to elaborate. I don't know which class will be taught when, but I do know that one will be Friday afternoon and the other is Saturday morning. I'm teaching the 2-color brioche stitch scarf (same class I taught at Haus of Yarn) and a workshop exploring different ways to cast on. I'm looking forward to teaching both!

Hope to see you at the Festival!

The One About Being Sick...Again

We're into the second month of the year and I'm suffering my second cold of the season. I'm two for two and I don't like this trend. I'm calling my disease M2C2 (Month 2, Cold 2).

An unfortunate aspect of being sick is watching daytime TV. Let me ask this...who watches soap operas anymore? I mean, seriously. Before I begin my rant, I need to confess that I watched "The Bold and the Beautiful" for about 15 minutes today. It was the first time I've watched in probably 20 years. I think I'm caught up but I have a few questions...when did Victoria Newman ("The Young and the Restless") change her name to Katie Logan and aren't Victor and Nikki upset with her shenanigans with Brad Carleton? Maybe I'm not as caught up as I thought I was. But really, who watches this crap? Daytime television pretty much sucks...not like evening television is much better. I actually had to go cold turkey on the do-it-yourself daytime shows on HGTV. "Hi, I'm Chris, and I really screwed up my garage door because it looked so easy when the guy on on HGTV fixed his."

Because of this M2C2, I'm missing a retreat this weekend with the ladies from my Prayer Shawl Ministry group at church. As I type they are driving to our church camp at NaCoMe on the other side of Centerville. It's a great spot for a retreat and I really hate that I'm missing it. We've only been talking about this for several years, and now the time comes and I'm @#(*$& sick!

Which brings up another question...can one have "conditional" Tourettes Syndrome? For example, on any given day I might mutter an harmless epithet here or there. However, when I'm sick my language goes into the toilet shitter. After a coughing fit, it's not uncommon for me describe exactly how much it @#*$&^ hurt. Or where's the #g$*(%d&~ kleenex? Same thing when I describe how #$(*$&%#=ing congested I am. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention how $*&@(!!*^! wonderful stoned that cough medicine makes me feel.

Maybe I have DIY Tourettes also...hmm.

Mark my words...I will NOT contract M3C3! This being sick is getting really $*(%&@! annoying.

The One About the Presbyterians

On a recent trip to visit my parents, Zack and I stopped by Jim's Steakhouse on 5th Avenue in Huntington, WV, for a quick lunch. Jim's is pretty quirky and a favorite of the locals. They have the best crushed ice ever, not too slushy, not too firm. After lunch, we decided to visit my mom at her office. She works at the Methodist church just a few blocks down from Jim's. 5th has more than its fair share of churches, and as we were driving down the street we drove right past the Presbyterian church. Zack asked why we weren't turning into the parking lot. (Zack and I are Presbyterian.) I said, "Your grandmother works for the Methodists." His response, "Do the Presbyterians know about that?"

Snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow

Snowmageddon
Snowpocalypse
Snowtastrophe
Snowmongous
Snowpendous
Snownormous
Snowgantic
Snowmendous
Snowgantuan
Snowmmodious
Snowumental
Snowmense
Snowlocaust

It's not pretty anymore, and it's making me cranky. I think I'll make myself a gin and tonic, turn the thermostat up to 84 and bitch about the heat.

The One About the Faucet

I arrived home that Friday night looking forward to relaxing in front of a mind-numbing television show while working on a knitting project, or perhaps doing a bit of spinning. After walking into the house and tossing my crap on the counter, I gave Sophie a fresh bowl of water.

Turn faucet on, fill dog bowl, turn water off, put dog bowl back in its place, notice water is still running. Well...that's not supposed to happen.

I turned the water on and off again. Still running. On and off. Still running. Shit. The plan I had for a mind-numbing Friday night was quickly escaping my grasp. The only logical thing to do at that point was to go under the sink and turn the water off that way, which meant moving the garbage can and all that weird stuff that accumulates under the sink. Three bottles of Windex. Really? (This is even funnier if you could see my windows. Smudged is the new clear.)

I turned off the water and attacked the faucet. I'm not afraid of simple home repairs and I've tackled faucets before. I took the faucet handle off and broke the little blue/red plastic thing that covered the screw. Well, crap, but I'll just buy a new dang faucet and start from scratch. It can't be much harder than fixing the 16-year-old faucet that won't turn off, right? Ha.

I walked into Home Depot and ventured into faucet aisle. Good Lord! Have you looked at faucets lately? It's been 16 years since I've been in the market and I suffered a bit of sticker shock. I really wanted one of those faucet/sprayer combo deals with a magnet that holds the sprayer in place and maybe one I just need to touch to turn on....but $300? Think again. I selected a modest Price Pfister for $80, very similar to the one I had but with a bit higher profile (so I can fill large dye-pots easier.)

It wasn't even 6:30 when I got home, so maybe the mind-numbing night was not all lost. (Think again, my friend!) The cabinet under the sink is a bad nasty place. It's dark. It smells kind of weird. Armed with a flashlight, a pair of pliers, a pair of channel locks and basic common sense, I wriggle myself quite gracefully into the cabinet while lying on my back. I should have added goggles and a rain bonnet to my arsenal. Oh, that crazy hindsight.

After a bit of PG-13 cussing, I was able to remove the old faucet. It gave up rather easily and the only broken piece was some plastic thingy that held the sprayer hose onto the faucet. It didn't look that important. When I pulled the new faucet out of the package the first thing I noticed was the lack of copper and brass. Hmm. My old faucet weighed about as much as a boat anchor. This new faucet was a light-weight. Literally. But it was a Price Pfister and all my other pfaucets are that brand. Not to worry.

I threaded the water lines through the appropriate holes and fastened the faucet to the sink. I chucked the old water lines into the trash because they were no longer needed. I connected the sprayer hose to the faucet, connected the water lines and slowly turned on the water. No drips. This was a good sign.

I unwriggled out from under the cabinet and heaved my butt off the floor. I carefully turned on the water and voila! It worked! Cold water was cold. Hot water was hot. Good pressure. Nice flow. I turned the faucet off, silently congratulating myself on a job well done and the damn thing dripped. WHAT!? Turn water on, turn water off. Drip. On. Off. Drip. DAMMIT!

Really.

It's kind of like knitting an elaborately cabled sweater sleeve and getting done only to notice that the FIRST cable all the way down by the cuff was a cable back instead of a cable front. Words aren't strong enough. Don't ask me how I know.

I said something like "screw it" and went out for Thai. When I returned home the faucet was still dripping. I went to bed.

Saturday morning, while laying in bed, I decided that the new faucet was going back and I was going to repair the old faucet. I dressed and went to Lowe's for faucet parts. It was too soon to return to Home Depot. I'm funny like that. $20 later, I returned home with a cartridge kit, a sprayer assembly, some black round things and a couple little springs. After a bit of online research I was able to reconstruct my old faucet with the replacement parts. I was ready.

I wriggled under the cabinet. Again. I removed the faucet. Again. I threaded the old faucet through the holes and fastened it to the sink. Again. I dug the discarded water lines out of the garbage and reconnected the sink to the water. I turned on the water. Not good. Water was coming out of the faucet, spraying all over the kitchen. Shit. Shit. Shit. I got my butt off the floor (pretty quickly this time) and tried to turn off the faucet. I hadn't put the handle on the faucet before I installed it so I had to move the little metal lever to turn it off. I installed the faucet backwards. Pushing the handle to the front was actually turning it on. Seriously. Backwards.

I wriggled under the cabinet. Again. I removed the faucet. Again. I flipped the dang thing around, checked to make sure all the connections were nice and snug. Again. I turned on the water. Again. This time water sprayed throughout the inside of the cabinet, thoroughly soaking me. This is where the shower bonnet and goggles would have been good to have. I turned off the water and indulged in R-rated cussing. A lot of it.

I mean, really?

As I removed the water lines from the faucet, I spewed forth with a steady flow of really bad words, in several languages. Who knew I was multi-lingual? Sure enough, after all the connecting and unconnecting the gaskets in the water lines were shot. I went to Ace. Too soon to return to Lowes and I was still ticked about the pfaucet from Home Depot. I tried to find a 64-cent gasket for the line, but they don't sell just the stinkin' damn gasket. You have to buy the entire freakin' $8.99 water line. Really? Yes, really.

I got home, crawled under the sink one last GD time and reconnected the water lines. With great hesitancy and trepidation, I turned on the water. No drip. No spray. I heaved my weary ass off the floor and turned on the old, repaired faucet and voila! It worked! Cold water was cold. Hot water was hot. Good pressure. Nice flow. I turned the faucet off, silently congratulating myself on a job well done and the damn thing dripped.

I shit you not.

But I can live with it.