PYT. Or, pretty, yum things! Mail has gone missing. I'm taking a break between searches, and this is what I'm relaxing with: Pretty Yum Things.
Pretty dark amber barley tea in a pretty liter pitcher that's served in a pretty good looking glass. A pretty pen makes for a picture perfect trio of pretty yum things. I closed the blinds against the bullying Texas sun with intentions of writing one more letter before I called it a day. No letter found its way through my nib, but I remembered these from last night. I drew and lay down some color while I watched a month's worth of missed episodes of "The Walking Dead."
This is an ad for "Nurse on Call," a private duty temp nursing company. Okay, it exists only in my mind but the nurses who hire out are funny. They all but guarantee to have a patient in stitches if they catch them off guard. Claudette is on her way to cheer up a friend who is recovering from surgery. Go with all due haste, Claudette.
Cicada humor never hurts the outside of an envelope. It might insult the cicada, but not that giant pink thing that needs a name.
We interrupt this show-off session to bring you another PYT moment! Oh, my goodness! Have you ever had these? Sorry for the pitiful picture but the sun dipped behind the roof tops before I shot this in natural light.
I searched for these stateside the first time I ate one. Anna, you are responsible for my addiction. I like these as much as I like moon pies! They're the British equivalent, and they make my knees knock when I see one. These little cakes remind me of candy until my teeth touch that graham cracker! I've never been a fan of marshmallow. I always saw hooves when I heard the word, until I tried organic marshmallows. Then Anna sent me Tunnock tea cakes, and I did not care. Yes, I stopped eating moon pies for over a decade.
A pretty box came in the mail the other day. I ripped into it as fast as I could. I did this in front of our mailbox cluster. Shame has no place in my life when it comes to opening boxes. This box was wrecked though. Well, it was wrecked before it made it to our box, and I finished wrecking it in my haste to see what was inside.
The Postal Elephant stomped my box of goodness. It squashed it. The heat melted what was left inside those pretty little squares of foil, except the graham crackers. Things oozed between the tiny foil cracks. Chocolate ran like it wanted to escape back across the great pond. The marshmallow morphed into something else totally. There's a mockingbird sitting just outside my window right now, and it's mocking me! They rape my muscadine vines every day and leave the hulls on the patio. They eat dozens at a time! I really must put the netting into play. But anyway . . . There was nothing but a sweet mess inside that box. I wanted to cry. Instead, I carefully opened one foil treasure, taking extra care not to . . . Okay. I held it in front of the a/c vent closest to me. Surely it would harden a little?
Not even. Not hardly. Not then and not last night, when I licked the last one. I licked my way down to the graham cracker bottom, and let me tell you, melted marshmallow will not be cleaned away with a wet tongue. And those "handi-wipes" were good-for-nothing in the face of the white goo. I couldn't lick my fingers because they were not clean enough to lick. A body never knows where Sal might be lurking. I mean, then never found Jimmy Hoffa, did they? I had to spit on a paper towel kept in the glove compartment for such emergencies, yet I walked into Hope Depot with sticky fingers. Oh. I embarrassed myself well before then.
The best part of the chocolate stuck to the foil. Undeterred, I ducked below dash eye level, and I commenced to licking like Minuet does when she gets wet-not-dry food, only I wasn't dainty about it. I know my neighbor saw me; she always sees me, but I would have lied had she asked me what I was up to later. People drop things on the floor board all the time, don't they? There goes that dang mockingbird again! It's eight thirty. He must be on a muscadine raid! So. I tore off a piece of foil and it found its way into my right cheek where the only filling I have just happened to be, and ZAP! Foil and filling make electricity. I couldn't produce enough spit to float that foil, so I got zapped a lot before I threw caution to the wind and used a dirtyish finger to grab and extract it.
No, I did not lick the cardboard packaging, but I still want to. The box is on the bed behind me, and I smell all that goodness--melted and beyond my reach. I know why some adults cry like a kid does over spilled chocolate milk. I love you, Anna. You manage to make magic happen in my life. There's that bird again! I'd fight it over a Tunnocks tea cake. Did you know they're a family company? When I go to England, the first thing I'm gonna do is have tea with a box of tea cakes. Pictures will prove it.
Never use postage as a bookmark. Not if you're like me, that is. I bought these last month. I'm reading "And the Mountains Echoed," so how is it I didn't notice them until twenty minutes ago?
And, last but not least, I did this envelope as a thank-you nod to the good James, who sent me a birthday gift wrapped in paper with robots. I've drawn a bunch of robots since then but this one has to be among my favorites. Thank you, James. I reckon it's a Berdbot? Robots are good reasons to use my box of gray COPICs.
I hope your life is full of PYTs.