My little tomato eater - and POISON IVY??

I was very excited that my tomato plant was going cray-cray this year. I had visions of homemade salsa dancing in my head. But every time I'd go check to see how many were ripe, none were, and there were fewer of them. Hmmm.

Eventually I found the culprit - Pablo. Every day he helps himself to a ripe grape tomato or two, plays with it and then eats it.







And of course when he runs out of ripe 'maters, a green one will do...



In other news, the Bipster went camping over the weekend. I had a great couple days of "me-time." House was scrubbed, I was napped and self-nurtured, laundry was done and dinner was in the fridge by the time he came home.... covered in poison ivy. Egads. I've never had it, even thought myself immune to it. I got him several over-the-counter remedies and thought it would all work itself out, but it kept spreading. Then yesterday, some itchy, blistery patches popped up on both of my legs and one arm. Oh, hell to the naw. I was not going to deal with it. So off I hauled us both to a walk-in-clinic (we actually had to go to three before we could get some care, but that's another story). Verdict? They don't know what it is, but they don't think it's poison ivy. Josh just breaks out in itchy, burning blotches all over his body that eventually shrink down to itchy little pimples. Mine started as itchy little pimples that turned into raised, red patches. He is on heavy duty oral steroids (6 a day for the first few days, gradually decreasing over two weeks) and since mine is not as severe, I just needed a steroid creme. Mine will probably be totally gone in a day or two, his is not slowing yet. What in the world is it?

Of course there's all kinds of special soaps, lotions, potions and disenfectants littering my once-spotless house.  Part of the disenfecting process is TONS OF LAUNDRY. Josh's definition of "doing" laundry is washing it, drying it, and then putting it somewhere else for me to deal with. Not happy. Not to mention the steroids make him hungry and super-duper grouchy. If I come home tonight to a still-cluttered house and unfolded laundry and my Incredible Hulk of a Hubbin asking me what's for dinner, I may have a little 'roid rage myself.