Bloody Hell 2014-W12

My mother's grandparents emigrated from Poland.  Once he'd earned his citizenship, her grandfather voted in every election and he dressed in a suit and tie to do so.  Maybe that was common then, I can't say.  But like him, I take our duty to vote seriously.  If you don't vote, keep your yap shut about your complaints concerning America.  Our state held primary elections earlier this week.  I confess I put less diligence than usual into vetting the slate of judges.  Otherwise most candidates were unopposed so it all went quickly.

At my precinct we vote in the vintage school auditorium and then stick our gigantic ballots into a cardboard sheath, whence we feed them into some big lockbox—which is motorized to suck them in—and consequently (if you are squeamish skip to the next paragraph now.  do it now.)  during the intake process I got a prolonged and exquisite, robotic paper cut.  Good gracious!

Being in a public place of some propriety, I felt obliged to chew down a litany of bad bad language.  I declined the offer of an emergency bandage, instead wrapping my pinkie in the voting receipt and beelining to the door so I could start swearing.  Only, it seems school had just gotten out and so while amidst the schoolchildren I had to keep the cork in my piehole.  One speedwalk home later, I washed out the cut and so refreshed it enough that I finally got those swears out.  Sweet relief.

Regular readers may recall I contemplated a few variations on a purple-yellow portrait (each also having some blue and orangey-browny) to explore different violets and yellows.  Today's uncooperative and underwhelming violet reminded me why it is not on my usual palette.  With the series wrapped up (I decided) let me say: thanks to Mrs. Black, and to you I say enjoy the first weekend of spring!

Mrs. Black III