As a kid I was a terrible liar. Not only did I make up stories about nearly everything, I lacked the cleverness to make them remotely believable.

It was a sad state of affairs.

By the time I was seven, I resolved never to lie again. This decision was not born out of some moral breakthrough (surely you know me better than that by now). No, it was a means of self-preservation since I had suffered such profound humiliation due to the invariable transparency of my lies.

I share this with you today because I want you to understand that I hate when people don?t believe me. Hate. If there is one thing my husband knows to the very tips of his toes is to never challenge me when I?m sharing an account of something out of the ordinary.

I HATE when people don?t believe me.

Have you ever known a reformed alcoholic who throws a hissy if you put wine on the table, or a 2-packs-a-day smoker who quits cold turkey and then proceeds to harass every smoker they pass? I?m worse than that; I?m scrupulously honest and it is annoying as hell.

And I?m not sure where I?m going with this except to say, if I hadn?t seen how red the water was before I snapped these photos, I would say I totally made this up. But I didn?t.

Daisy and I were out doing errands today and after passing the painted water we came upon this tableau, which is also, for me, kind of unbelievable.

It?s just too damn fabulous.

And then, once we?d gone to the post office and the groceries were procured, we stopped at the lake so she could go for a swim because I?m sick of avoiding hunters in the woods.

(And yes, for those who commented on the last post we ALL have to wear oil tanker orange every time we head out for a walk.)

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