The Nightlife of a SWMF

Earlier this evening I had a good chuckle as I read the update of an old friend from Youth for Christ. Married and living in the west of Canada, the majority of her email centred on their newborn child of 6 months. She spoke of a "Baby and Me" group and the squealing noises of her son. I thought it was cute. It caused me to reflect on how life changes.

Less then a decade back, I would have been mortified if my Friday night consisted of anything less then going out with a few friends for drinks and dancing. Granted my entertainment choices have changed considerably, but nightlife certainly isn't what it used to be. Allow me to elaborate.

Most recently, Alison discovered that our dog, Risky, is infested with ticks. He has two varieties of ticks. One is smallish and red and the other is the size of large raisin, grey in colour. Our poor canine is being drained of blood and probably being given some dreadful, mind-eating disease in return. Alison, valiant and strong of stomach, has spent hours picking the suckers off of Risky's skin.

Last Friday, I overcame my strong gag reflex, and with the help of my friend Lindsay, the three of us took on Risky and plucked the putrid pests together. After drowning them in a rubbing alcohol, we gathered them into a glob on our tile patio.
At this point, the real fun began...especially for one who comes from a family of pyromaniacs. What a sweet feeling of revenge and satisfaction coursed through me as we set the little buggers on fire.

At one point, some one commented on the fact that it was Friday night and we were gathered around a small mound of charred tick corpses. Perhaps we should have wept at our pathetic plight, instead we found it quite amusing and spent the next half hour cracking jokes about how we were "livin' la vida loca"!

The nightlife got a little more "loco" last evening. Lindsay and I headed to a gala good-bye party for some friends of our Nacer homes. The food was pretty decent except for one particular item bearing a startling resemblance to something you would blow out of your nose.
However, our dinner didn't even compare to the one the dogs were devouring back at home. Coming through the gate, our dog and the neighbor's puppy were licking there chops on the porch. I looked at Lindsay and said, "Is that a diaper?"

It was.

These days the only ones consuming alcohol are nasty ticks and the only things dancing are the flames as they consume their inebriated bodies. Ahhh, the life of a single white missionary female.