Mojito Breeze at Wazoo

"Hello, this is Equitable Gas!" the friendly, male automated voice interrupts my last cup of tea. "You're going to be up bleeping creek without a paddle if you don't remit payment soon, sucker. Like hot water? Well, it's GOOOOONE."

See, this is the problem, mateys. We have the money to pay our bills but I, the bill payer, have procrastinated her duties endlessly. We've gone all soft around here in the past day and a half. Martin's done grading poetry portfolios and last exams and we're feeling the mellow, mint-tinged summer breeze of change. Nobody wants to do anything they're supposed to anymore. I've got a column to write and I'm on my little spiffy Netbook, writing this instead. I'm still in my pjs. Martin is looking for bike tires on the internet. Bea is standing on a kitchen chair, shouting, "Could I just have ONE?" (One M&M, that is). I tell her, you can have one if you go to the potty. Too late. Apparently the post-school lazies are affecting us all in different ways. Thankfully, there is only one of us here at Wazoo who thinks a good time includes pooping her pants.

I did pay the gas bill this morning. I love hot water too much. And Mojitos. I love to say "moJIto," I love to fill my hands with tender spring mint, I love to sip languidly in the company of good people on our back porch, listening to the wind chimes and the jealous birds begging for just a sip. For a few days I've been awakening with a feeling of cloudy doom lingering over my head, a leftover of stressful, busy last work weeks. And then I tell myself, "All is well," and the clouds thin out to wispy cirrus high up in a hot blue sky.

Come by and celebrate with us. Bring a lime. We've got the rum.