My punching bag: not just a conversation piece anymore

Yesterday as I was struggling up the hill with some groceries through the thick warm air (Nova Scotia being an impossibly humid province), Ian drove up and offered me a ride home. Of course I accepted, especially when he dropped hints about ice cream. Sure enough, after the groceries were put away, we went for ice cream. I had my regular mint chocolate chip, of course (it's occurred to me that I really am predictable in a steady stable sort of way) and we wandered around the little park area there as we ate. Once the bugs became too annoying, we headed back into town. Ian came up for a pleasant chat. He broke my mechanical automatic advance pencil and I laughed at him, telling him that he was the first person to visit and break something, but he was eventually able to fix it. Like many visitors to my living room, he was also intrigued by my sad looking punching bag, or as I liked to call it, big red phallic conversation piece. Perhaps still feeling bad about the pencil incident, Ian decided to fix the punching bag. This ended up not being as big of a chore as I was anticipating, especially with 2 people to do it. So, I can now add actual purposeful arm movements to my dance attacks (hee hee hee... dance attacks... that sounds so '80s and dorky) instead of the random flailing that I've been doing so far. I sent Ian off with many thanks and strict instructions that I am to be included in future ice cream excursions.

Tonight I'm meeting Andrea for dinner at the Library Pub, which I'm excited about, and tomorrow hopefully Zenon is coming for a visit. He and I have big Scrubs-related plans.