Wally Smells Like Balls

In this moment, I simply exist.

Depression? I don’t think so.

My stomach has been wonky all day. I worked a few hours of overtime this week (in my pajamas, of course).

And I am the parent of a very headstrong, stubborn teenager who seems to have to learn lessons the hard way. Sigh.

These things combined, along with the fact humans experience fluctuating emotions, are all good reasons why I am a car parked in neutral.

But understanding the why isn’t going to change the what I am feeling. So it will be hanging out in the background while I get down to this blogging business.

Life in the country, and with a partner, gives me plenty of great content. Sometimes weird. Sometimes awkward. Sometimes it’s just life.

Great nonetheless.

The other day, as I was finishing up work tasks, Trevor came downstairs with a latex glove. As he’s putting it on his right hand, he tells me he has a surprise for me when I get off of work.

…naturally, I clenched my butt cheeks together and told him that was not the kind of surprise I was looking for.

Thankfully, it was not the surprise he had in mind.

Then there was this morning. Ohhh, this morning.

I woke up to a loud crash. After deciding it was probably something logical and not someone breaking in, or ghosts, I went ahead and decided to get up and clock into work early because I wasn’t going back to sleep.



Thanks, giphy 😉

I freed Wally from the legs of Trevor, noticing my sweet, soft plush whale SMELLED LIKE BALLS.

Wally was placed somewhere far, far away from the bed while I decided it was time to buy Trevor a knee pillow…and a fat, sassy plush seal to detour him from grabbing Wally when he needs something softer and more pliable than I am to snuggle.

Because those will be his and I don’t care if they smell like balls.

Trevor, once he rose from beauty sleep, was informed he is now grounded from Wally. Lauren, when I told her what had happened (she bought Wally for me last year), said to toss my whale in a pillowcase to wash him.

She also laughed.

…I’m not sure if I have a big enough pillowcase, though. Wally is a thicc whale, which we support in this house. But my pillows are standard size. For now, I’ll see if airing him out helps.

After removing Wally from his dire situation and getting him resettled, I tossed my robe on and went downstairs.

Where I turned my work laptop on, thinking I was going to start work around 6am. Instead, it was my digestive track that did the clocking in.

…I had been anticipating some sort of antics. When we had gone to bed last night, my stomach was a little upset.

She’s still cranky.

I did discover, after coming out of the bathroom, what woke me up at roughly 5:38 this morning.

The canvas we had purchased from our Michael’s splurge last weekend had fallen off the wall. Probably because I didn’t clean said wall with alcohol like most of the command strip instructions tell you to.

They mean it when they tell you to follow the directions for best results.

I eventually got settled into work. But still feeling yucky, decided I wanted to feel cozy in sweats and my favorite sweatshirt.

Little did I know this was about to make a random and slightly awkward social encounter a bit less awkward.

Sweats were on. Work was happening, except I saw a blue jay hop on the sidewalk. Where bird food was not but has been for the past week.

Guilt settled in.

While waiting on documents to load, I stepped outside the french doors and put food out for the birds.

And noticed a big, white truck that I assumed belonged to one of the deer hunters that lease the land each year.

I watched the truck from my work space (I can see right down the driveway) and it didn’t park/pull off where the hunters have been parking/driving.

It came up to the front of the house.

I was about to have an encounter with a human. At 8:30am. I hadn’t even finished my Dt. Dr. Pepper. And I don’t own this place. I HAVE NO ANSWERS!

I couldn’t hide or ignore whoever was in the truck because they saw me feeding birds. And they could see right into the sunroom, which is my office space.

The truck parks. Its owner steps out. A man I haven’t seen before.

Turns out he is from Michigan. And was looking for the field trials taking place in our community. Unfortunately, the location this stranger was looking for is on the south side of the highway and I couldn’t exactly give him solid directions to help him find his destination.

I didn’t catch his name but it was a friendly exchange. Though Trevor was home, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make me uncomfortable.

It’s already unnerving when someone you don’t know comes to your door, but when you are in the country, that concern gets amped up a bit more. Especially as a woman.

But my encounter with the stranger from Michigan ended well.

So because this man was hungry for answers and not murder, I’m still here to share the saga of Wally, The Poor Whale Who Smells Like Balls with you. Because I’m sure it’s exactly the story you were wanting to start your weekend with.

More posts to come.

Published by amberalice

Mother of spoods. Birb lunch lady.

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