Why Do I do These Things?

As I had mentioned in a recent little rant I went down another little rabbit hole only this time I’ve got rocks falling in with me.  The one question I have asked, a couple of times now, is where do you get your rocks?  Surprising enough the ones lying in your yard aren’t the best for the artwork.  No they haven’t said that, they have been quite gracious.  The overall consensus however is to buy them.  I can’t do that.
I have been picking up rocks my whole life.  True most have been more on the size of boulders but there have been geos and lovely and rare finds along the way that I dearly loved.  A lot of them I still have and still dearly love.  Nothing wrong with that I’m sure and I’ll probably continue that little quirk of my nature until I leave this mortal coil.  I accept it and can live quite happily with it.
Today however became a bit of an issue.  My hubby and I, he’s such a sweetie sometimes, went on a little rock hunt this afternoon after he took me to lunch.  All’s good right.  Of course not.
The type and size of stones, really doesn’t matter to me but it seems to be important in the painting of the stone part, were slim pickings.  I did however find a few nice little specimens that I picked up here and there.  OK so what’s the problem, right?
I didn’t come back with a bag full of stones and of the few I picked at least three will never see the first touch of paint.  It would be a crime to nature, I’ve already pointed this out to the group, and I refuse to deface a thing of beauty.  I simply can’t.  If you can paint over a raw piece of beautiful black granite go ahead but I refuse.  Yes I found one.  Also a white one.  OK, after all these years of picking up rocks all over the country I’ve developed an eye for finding really good ones.  So is this the problem?  Hell no.
At what became the end of our excursion into nature, a sudden one I might add, I heard my husband take that deep oh shit intake of breath.
“What?”  I asked in a bit of an apprehensive voice.
“I think your standing in poison ivy.”  Was his response.
I looked down at what was all around my feet and he was right.  There it was, poison ivy.  Right nest to that was also a nice little patch of poison oak.  Yes I’m allergic to the crap, very allergic, what you might call deadly allergic.  Another words the shit don’t like me.
So as I sit here itching my ass, and other parts of my body, off I know that what is happening right now is all in my head and hopefully tomorrow the steps I took after rushing home will have taken care of any problems that might have arose from this little fun filled and loving outing with my dear darling sweetie.  If not, woe be unto him because he will be the one to have to hear me bitch and moan for days to come.