The gas company is doing a bunch of work in our neighborhood, laying new gas lines, moving meters, etc. They’re working on our property this week moving our meter from beside the house up to the property line. They started digging the trenches this morning.
I’m sure you can imagine how our dogs are taking this. Roscoe the Idiot bloodhound has a sore throat from all the baying that was required to keep the workmen under control. Mostly the kids kept the dogs in the house, but for the little bit of time they were outside they kept the workmen company from the other side of the gate. We’re certain the laborers are grateful.
When My Honey got home the workmen came over to chat him up about their progress. They asked him what kind of dog we had.
“It’s a bloodhound/red tick coonhound mix,” My Honey said.
“He’s a cool dog – loud, but cool. I mean other one. What kind of dog is the black one?”
My Honey was surprised. While Winifred is a very pretty dog, it’s usually the bloodhound who gets all the attention. He’s kind of unusual. “She’s a lab mix. Maybe pit bull. Why?”
The foreman told him how she spent the day making friends and flirting with the workers. He said they were digging away and all of a sudden there was a cute black dog standing next to the trench, wagging her tail and smiling.
“We were like, isn’t that their dog?” Then she’d take off, jumping back over the wall and resume watching from the gate next to Roscoe. This happened a bunch of times, each time she’d wiggle and tease and make friends, then jump back over the wall. They were amazed at her athletic prowess.
“Man, it’s amazing how she can clear that wall like it’s nothing.”
“Yeah, we can’t even keep her in the yard.” I don’t think we could keep her in even if we raised the wall another five feet.
At one point, Winnie simply jumped up on the 5-foot wall and watched from there. They thought she was adorable/cute/crazy.
Apparently, now she has a fan club at the gas company.
The Sisters are clumsy people. We almost never wear heels because that’s just tempting the gods and we know those crazy Greeks love to mess with the mortals. We have many stories among us detailing this scar or that one, or times when we’ve fallen with majesty.
Like for example, last week when Ava fell down in the office parking lot giving Amylynn nightmares for a week. Of course, Ava told everyone in the office that Amy pushed her down. Ava will have to deal with her scabs – and her guilt.
Amy got her own, though, this weekend when she was attacked by a blind woman in the Costco parking lot. To be fair, the blind woman probably didn’t know she was there unless she was using her spidey sense or something. We don’t know what really happened – we may never know what super powers that woman possesses – but Amy’s wearing the marks from where the woman whipped her special cane out and sliced Amy’s upper arm.
So here’s our public service announcements – give those canes a wide berth. They’re sharp. And asphalt is very hot in the summer.
I was making silly faces at Sassy last night as we were snuggling in her bed before she went to sleep.
“You better stop that, Mom. You’re going to get wrinkles.”
I did not stop it. “I think I’m doing ok.”
“Um hmm,” she hummed, her tone speculative.
“Look, I’ve been making these faces for 47 years and all I have is a couple of wrinkles on my forehead from raising my eyebrows at you people and a few laugh lines around my eyes.”
She snorted. “They’re called crow’s-feet, and you have them.”
I glared at her in the dark. “You’re going to want some money sometime soon…”
Guess what I did over Memorial Day weekend.
I am not kidding, nor am I exaggerating. On Saturday I went to the Costco and blew $275. Then I went home and laid on the couch and watched television with my kids while My Honey went and did band stuff.
On Sunday I laid on the couch, sat in my big chair, and laid on the bed. Honest to Zeus, that is the full extent of my activities.
On Monday, I ran the dishwasher, took my car to be washed, and made lasagna. I did that last thing only because I was shamed into it.
After so many weeks of GO GO GO it was incredibly wonderous to do NOTHING.
If you have the opportunity, I strongly suggest you give it a whirl.
So my kids are home for the summer. They’re hanging out at home, except when my mom takes them to the movies or they go to their other gramma’s to swim. They’ve been doing great. I give them chores to do each day and so far, so good.
Also, the calls to me during the day have been minimal, so that pleases me. I remember my own mother threatening my brother and I with a painful death if we didn’t stop calling her at work during our own summer vacations.
Today, however, I got a call. I couldn’t answer because I was already on the phone with a client.
Sassy’s voice mail said, “Give us a call so Bandit and I can tell you about our exciting morning.”
I called immediately. “Are the firemen there?”
“No,” she said. “But let me tell you.”
The story she regaled me with involved a cat who loves to eat bugs, a broom, a giant insect – and a roll of duct tape.
I know. Hold on. I’ll explain.
Apparently, Jojo Kitty was yowling in a manner that implied he wanted to be fed. Once Sassy opened her bedroom door to take care of his needs something large and with entirely too many legs skittered across the floor. She screamed for her brother who came running with a broom. I assume at this time he backed away to a safe distance while Sassy commenced beating the ever-loving shit out of that bug.
As soon as they decided it was dead, the three of them — Sassy, Bandit, and the cat — ran to a safe room and debated what to do about it now. Should they wait for their grandmother to come over and then beg her to wipe it up? Could one of them actually handle it?
Sassy felt that she could do it. She was a teenager now and she expected she could handle this new responsibility. I’m also certain that her brother backed away to a safe distance at this time, too.
As Sassy tells the story, her brother was positioned at the front door, poised to open it as she approached, sweeping the bug carcass outside. Except that the “carcass” twitched as she approached with the broom.
Imagine, Dear Internet, the shrieking that now rang through my house by both kids accompanied by fresh whacking with the broom, encouraging baying from the hound dog, and more wild-cat like yowling from the cat who was desperate to get at the bug. I honestly have no idea how the neighbors didn’t call the police.
Once again, our intrepid warriors gathered their animal cheering squad and retreated to a safe room.
So now in the doorway to the kitchen lies a battered insect and a mangled broom. What to do. What to do.
I believe what they came up with was pretty inspired.
This was exactly what My Honey found when he came home from work. Behold – a paper towel duct taped around the body. This bug was going nowhere.
We were coming home from Target when the Bandit informed me he wants a gold Corvette.
“No,” I told him.
“What do you mean, ‘no?'” he asked.
“You can’t have a gold Corvette.” I said.
“Because that would be ugly,” I explained.
“Nuh uh.” He responded with a classic. “I’m getting one.”
“They won’t make a gold one. There are rules.”
He laughed. “What’s wrong with you? I can have a gold Corvette.”
“I said no. It’s not possible. I won’t allow it. Besides, they won’t make them in gold.”
“You’re crazy,” he told me. “I’ll take it to a paint shop and have them do it.”
“Nope. You’ll go in there and say, ‘Hey, I want you to paint my car g–‘ and they’ll interrupt you before you even finish. They’ll shake their heads and say, ‘Sorry, the big book of rules says no. Besides, your mother already called.'”
“Really,” he said skeptically. “What would Ava say?” There’s a dare in his voice.
“She’d agree with me.” I know this to be true because Ava hates anything with gold trim. I always buy purses with gold hardware because then she won’t steal them from me. Still, there are limits. A gold car is beyond the pale. There’s no way my Sister would like a gold Corvette. No possible way.
He pointed to my phone. “Then call her.”
I did. I put the phone on speaker. She answered on the second ring. “Hey, your nephew here wants a gold Corvette. What say you?”
Then my sister betrayed me. “I think that is an excellent idea.”
“What?” I’m genuinely shocked. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. Why would you allow that?”
“It’s the Jersey in me,” she admitted. She’s right. Any hideous car accessory she see’s, she wants. For God’s sake she’s convinced that she wants a spoiler on her Jaguar. It’s ridiculous.
I hung up on her. Encouraging my son to indulge his low-rent proclivities is completely treacherous. A gold Corvette. Gads.
In honor of National Tiara Day, it’s time for the annual viewing.
Kate has such a lovely accent. It really brings this home, eh?