Blood, Sweat, and Tears.

The title sounds a little dramatic. What s’more, it might be marshmallow dramatic. But it’s what came to my mind and I’ll stick with it for now. (If at this point you think I’ve totally gone crackers, click this link: s’mores.)

I read an article somewhere lately. I’m not sure where the article was or even where I was at the time, but the gist of it was that people with type O positive blood seem to attract female mosquitoes when they’re searching for a victim. The insult to injury is the mosquito needs the blood to help her produce eggs (which basically means more mosquito bites for me).  I ran out of time at that point and my response was, “Oh, mos quit.” Or, mos quit o.  Or not. I have O+ blood. I get mosquito bites when other people think there are no mosquitoes around. Those people notice when I leave the area, though, because the female mosquitoes are paying attention to their biological clock as it ticks and they are less picky about blood type when I’m not around.

The type O blood is a bigger problem than that, though. I have been trying to assist some folks with ordering invitations and printed napkins. Type O is coming through there, too.  The invitation typo was easily set straight. The font was easy to copy and the missing letter was an I at the end of a word. For no extra charge (other than a little sweat and almost tears), I was able to add the missing “i” so they wouldn’t look like minion or pirate invitations. And the hosts’ last name was spelled correctly.

The second typo might not be as easy to clean up, even though they are napkins. An errant comma gives pause where it doesn’t belong. After 60 years, they who hesitate too much might not get there. Or they might like a little nap on the way. But it looks a little strange and I may end up ordering more (e’en). It’s not worth it to distract people who know about commas from the main event.

I will cut this post a bit short because I’m on my way out the door to help someone else with some projects in her yard. The forecast is calling for sweat. But as long as I don’t focus on the last three letters between meals, I should be okay.

The tears go along with a decoupage project I’m struggling with. The last decoupage project I did was probably forty-eight years ago (give or take a few minutia). I haven’t cried over this project (yet), but I have torn the paper enough to have to rethink how I’m going to achieve success. I may have to rename the project and try a different technique. I have a habit of doing crafts the same way I cook. (If you’ve read my book, you might remember the Tarragon Chicken recipe I was using turned into Marjoram Pork when I discovered I didn’t have the key ingredients as I was attempting to prepare the meal.)

I’ll leave the rest of the story for when I finish it.  I’m sorry for any typos that may be in this post.