Tropical Living: Reality Check

Oh, hey. Hi. What's up. So, um, yeah. This is what's going on in our house today:


That would be a gigantic bead sheet tent erected not for the delight and enrichment of my toddler, but for the protection of the contents of my kitchen which are currently spread out on every available surface in my living room. So, that's not annoying or anything.

A few unwelcome guests of the entomological sort decided that my kitchen ceiling would make a cosy home and my pantry a scrumptious tbuffet. In turn, I decided that they needed to die in a cloud of napalm, but neurotoxins on my appliances, utensils, and pantry items is not really my bag. So. 

When Stella came home from school and saw the chaos in our front room, she declared, "I no wike dis", and honestly, I'd have to agree. I mean, I keep wandering into the kitchen only to be reminded that wine no longer lives on the pantry shelf, but is currently hanging out on the windowsill. Along with the pasta, some sea salt and approximately eleventy billion other culinary items, various and sundry.

The moral of this story, such as one exists, is as follows: friends envious of my tropical life of banana leaves and swimming pools in January must keep in mind that equatorial insects are a deathless scavengers and sometimes one discovers geckos under a pile of unwashed dishes.

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