Prognosis for Survival: It's the Small Things
7 a.m. this morning there was some honking outside ... the truck was here to remove the tip. After a scramble to get cars out of the way (thankfully only ours). He backed in and with only a little trouble given how full of concrete the thing was had it up on the flatbed in no time at all. Great excitement for the girls, their cousin, and (of course) the rest of us ... except Lucy (she spend the entire operation hiding out upstairs).
The tip has been a source of amusement and excitement during its time here, and it's drawn the occasional interest from scrap metal seekers. Earlier in the week, Evelin was cutting the grass when she saw a truck pull up next to it and a man got out to look in the tip. She stopped and asked if he was picking up or dropping off, because he was welcome to take things out, but if he was dropping off then she was going to yell at him. His reply: "You can't yell at Big Tom!" Evelin replied, "Of course I can!" ... which earned a few more protestations that she couldn't yell at him. Truth is, Big Tom doesn't know what he's talking about.