A Farewell to Draggon

[azurelunatic]

So we have Lawn Dragons. A while ago, an inflatable dragon so new that I didn't even have a lawn picture of it got caught in a wind storm and partially broken. It still lit up, but the blower didn't go, and I thought it was probably some broken wires. And maybe we could fix it.

So Belovedest draped it over the lounge chair on the porch, to dry out.

And there it sat.

I admit that I am short-tempered sometimes.

It's lounging season, I think a little early this year. So the dragon and I have been sharing the chair. And much to my annoyance, we have been sharing it with tiny black ants. Which have been using the deflated dragon as a pathway to climb up onto the chair's side tables (it's a retired infusion chair, so it reclines, has tables, and a place to attach an IV pole) and even on to my very person. I discovered this yesterday.

What losing my temper looked like this time was an enticing Craigslist ad for the salvage-condition dragon (free to the first to arrive), along with reviving my ad to get rid of the aftermarket KitchenAid beater that just barely didn't fit my mixer bowl. Which had been hanging around for months and was starting to develop lichen.

They were both gone by the time I got outside this afternoon.

Comments

[vass]

I hope Draggon and its new handler are very happy with each other, not to mention whoever wanted lichen and/or a KitchenAid beater.

In vaguely related news, last week I bought a new kitchen knife. On Sunday, after some hard thought about social scripts, I placed my old knife (plastic handle slowly deliquescing; cute little dog-ear on the tip of the blade) in the clear plastic outer container the new knife had come in, and took it to the transfer station, where (through the open car window, hands holding the knife inside the car, side-on, still in the container) I addressed the staff member at the gate with "I need to get rid of this knife."

As I was leaving, I realised that this was not the completely innocuous script I'd thought it was, but the staff member who directed me on which Very Big Bin to chuck it in did not seem to take this as indicating that I was trying to dispose of a murder weapon, and at least I didn't rock up and say "I have a knife!" like I was issuing a threat.

[ghoti]

in my experience, murder knives are not brought, wrapped, to a transfer station. they are either tossed in the nearest trash bin or left underneath the body.