Pet Mother Superior is gonna baby me to death.
Went shopping for stuff to make tacos al pastor and an elotes salad, didn't press for the extra giant beer when she asked me to pick just one, because I did not want her to pull shenanigans from the verbal agreement to allow me to mow once we got home. I have my priorities.
She was already complaining about the heat, which is a joke, its barley 90.
Mowing went without a hitch. Decided I could let Rox out while I water my garden.
Little bee decided to try to dash past me as I was opening the gate, decided to try to go between the legs, and places her 40lb frame against my stitches. A few expletives were said, at a volume that could be heard from the front of the house. Pet Mother Superior appeared out of nowhere.
I tried to make an argument as to why my plans were not to be abated, but all I heard was "too hot," "you're limping," and "go inside, now."
Was I in fact limping? Yes.
I was in enough pain that the idea of the many shrubberies that lay before my path to the spigot was honestly not looking very inviting, and I would rather avoid her verbal ruler across the wrists. Her words are perfectly fine, but the tone, the tone...
I will be firing up the grill in just a moment, so I relented. Committing an act of hydration was definitely not a bad choice, in retrospect.