I sat on the corner of my crimson leather couch and pressed my heels into my cowboy boots. I walked over to the mirror and smiled with fashion satisfaction.

You’re not wearing those, Jasmine. Seriously, I’m not walking in public with you like that.
Uh, hellllllo, we’re going to a pumpkin patch…
And?
And what do farmers wear? Boots. They wear boots!
But you’re not a farmer.
… Yes, but I’m going to harvest a pumpkin! Farmers and Harvesters are one and the same. Duh.

After a verbal tug-o-war, the victor (i.e. me!) proudly wore my boots to our local pumpkin patch to choose our competition pumpkins. Oh, yes, the claws are going to come out when JD and I begin our carving competition…and it gets ugly! 😉

Last year JD won, but that’s only because Mike and DJ made it a gender preference vote. Whatever! This year JD already had a vision of what he wants his pumpkin to be and he’s working on his sketches. Ugh, yes, I said ‘sketches’…as in plural. Oh, he appears to be nice and docile, but when it comes to a contest, his inner beast rears its ugly head!

So be warned…this here lil blog is going to become a voter’s central in the next couple of days. The competition will be stiff, the tension so thick I could cut it with preschool scissors, but I’m sure I’ll be victorious in the end!