I washed my hands in a puddle today.

Today I decided to be a good daughter (and maybe I needed someone to buy me a tank of gas). My dad is moving out of my mother's house this weekend (they've been apart for 14 years, she let him stay there for a few months at a time that it was needed, no dig emotional deal, no worries). This of course means that I children are expected to be there in the hauling and dropping of furniture. We started today with renting a truck and going to the storage unit he's got most of his stuff in now so tomorrow will go a lot smoother with unloading, loading, and then unloading again. Really, I swear that elimination of the first loading will make tomorrow heaven compared to most moving days.

We found a broken jar of pear butter, which of course needed to be cleaned with supplies that we didn't have. I went to the office and was able to get a trash bag, but I didn't even think to really ask for anything else. Once I got as much of the glass as I could possibly get with just my hands, we decided that it was in a spot that we could kind of avoid, and put some paper over it because it was gross. I then went to go wash my hands in the office.

That's hard to do when they left for what was posted to be a 45 minute lunch about 2 minutes before that.

Have I mentioned yet that it was raining just enough to get everything we took out of the unit soggy? Well it was. (I'm not complaining about the rain, as I know we need it, and I actually love it. Our timing I'm not a big fan of though.) I had way too much pear butter on my fingers to just wipe it off somewhere though. Looking down while calling my dad to let me back in the gate I noticed an accumulation of rain that is commonly called a small puddle. It looked like the only choice I really had, so I took it.

I don't care what anyone thinks about Sacramento weather, rinsing your hands in puddle water and then not being able to dry them off before the wind gets to them makes them colder than I really remember them being.

It was not exactly an enjoyable experience, and I may start carrying wet naps.

(Sorry for all the parenthetical comments, it's late. Also, why did I not know that my dad made pear butter, and why did I not get any?)