The Mysterious Substance

I don't know what happened. I was late for a ferry, see, and so found myself hoofin' it across the longest parking lot known to man. Naturally, I had a massive bag of marking in tow, along with my overly stuffed backpack. Everything was flapping and bopping and flailing about. Plus there was my big purse, lighter than normal. As I kind of loped along, I realized that I forgot my cell phone on the seat of my car, which worried me. I was the person the realty dude was going to call to let us know when he was showing our house (making ME the contact person was SHEER brilliance). My task was to then inform everyone of potential strangers in our midst. Well, I guessed my roomies would soon figure it out, but hopefully BEFORE they tromped around the house in their skivvies.

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But so far I haven't told you the interesting part of the story.

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When I finally got to the terminal (by just a hair) and had found the boy I was meeting there, I made somewhat of a dramatic entrance with my gasping for breath, clutching my lungs, and lamenting my cell phone's absence. But then, you see, I took off my backpack and noticed the most disgusting, curious growth on the back side of my pack. It was orange, and circular, and smelled musty and looked downright scary. (I'm not that surprised anymore when I see moldy substances. My trunk has a leaking problem, and I have a fixing problem.) Anyway, I also noticed that where my jacked rubs up against my backpack was now stained orange (must be from all the bouncing my backpack did whilst I gracefully ambled through the parking lot). Excellent. I had ruined my jacked and now had to somehow scrape revolting, moldy substance off backpack with... fingernail?

Here's some photographic evidence of said orange substance and subsequent stain:

Ewwwwwwwwwwwww. Ew. Ew.

Yeah, that's my jacket, all right.

This is my sad face, Mom.

So, as is my custom, I sort of just left disgusting substance on my bag and jacket, and went about the goings on of the weekend. However, my plight was rectified by the beautiful, resourceful assistance of RPT's elbow (Andy's mama) and Mr. Clean's magic eraser. Yes, she did indeed clean up the WHOLE mess for me. Free of charge. Wonderful!

And all was well with Cheryl's world. There are numerous theories as to the actual identity of the mysterious orange substance. My favourite so far is it's poop that I sweep under my bed with a little mini brush. Pshaw. As if.

Oh, and if you're curious about a special musical surprise Andy received this weekend, I'm sure you can read all about it here... once he writes about it, that is.