Pup & Stuff Portrait Friday #5

It’s Friday—time once again for a portrait of my pup and portraits of my stuff. SPF is brought to you by Kristine. Stop by Random and Odd and say hello.

Penny’s not too sure about this whole idea of me spending so much time on the computer. Here she is with me on the deck chair. “Woof! Come on, Mom, let’s go for a walk!”

Pay attention to me!

And now, on to the stuff. Exhibit A is a picture of my keys:

My Keys

I don’t have too many, but that makes it easier to keep track of what each one is for. My Passat key on the left folds up. It has a little button on the other side, and when you press it the key part pops out. I’d never seen one before we started test driving VWs, and I think it’s kinda cool.

J.P. does most of the grocery shopping, but I have a Wegman’s card on my ring. It’s the best store around—right up there with Byerly’s back in Minneapolis. And yes, that’s a now-useless suitcase key that I never got around to removing.

Next up is a view from my front door. First, looking out:

Front Door - looking out

Your typical suburban cul de sac. Can you tell we haven’t had any rain in a while?

And looking in:

Front Door - looking in

Surprise! Your typical suburban house.

And finally, something I kept from a past relationship:

From a Past Relationship

These golf shoes were a gift from a guy I met online. He was so funny and we got along great. We met, and he turned out to be a complete jerk. Too bad it took me six months to figure that out.

I was taking golf lessons at the time and he was really into golf, so he took me out and bought me these shoes. The first time I wore them, I got such huge blisters that I made him run from the fourth hole back to the car to get my tennis shoes because I could no longer walk.

That was the only time I wore them. The dirt you see on the bottom is from a Minnesota golf course, and it’s nearly ten years old. You can see that I’ve tried to get rid of them, but apparently there isn’t a big garage sale market for women’s size 10 golf shoes.


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