Somewhere in one of my past posts I called myself a country mouse who liked to rock ‘n roll once in a while. If you glance at me for about, umm…0.2 seconds, I’m pretty sure you’re not saying this to yourself: she sure as heck looks like she knows her way around a farm!!
Instead, I bet you think I can’t function without multiple cups of caffeine in the morning. You doubt I can lift a 5lb bag of gummy worms. You believe, given the option, that I would push over and use a small child as a stepping stone before placing my foot in sheep poo.
I would call you Judgey McJudgerson, but I haven’t done any of those things, so who am I to say? You might be right.
I have a dream. And that dream is to have a small farm. Small being the operative word. Like maybe a few goats and a dozen chickens to start. See if I can handle it.
When you have a dream, you tend to overlook the reality of the situation. At least I do. Oh, but please let my dream stay beautifully misted over with romantic idealism…
Marry me, FarmLife!! (Sorry, I held back as long as I could. Some day, one of my proposals will be accepted wholeheartedly.)
Reality can settle in later, like with a real marriage, right?