Like We Care

Strolling the superstore, we pass the display, a table full of ‘green’ products, artfully bordered by plastic ivy, with a plastic ficus standing sentry.

He: I always appreciate a big corporate concern that is so upfront about faking it.

Pets Like Us

PROCESSING
A couple of nights ago, the inside kitty was accidently left on the porch with the outside kitties. My husband let her in when he got up, and though she badly needed rest, instead of sleeping she had to roam the house for an hour, wailin' and bitchin' at the top of her lungs, telling on us first.


MENTAL KRYPTONITE
Last night in the bout of dogs waking me up, dogs off the bed, dogs on the bed, dogs off the bed, I stepped on the Alpha Princess's tail just as she was poised to soar back onto the bed. I stepped off before the tail was pulled, but it threw her off her mark, she hit the top an inch too low and thudded onto the floor on her side. I picked her up and put her in bed, and she lay there, breathing heavily. This morning she would not attempt the jump onto our very low couches, she was that sure her bounding-tall-buildings power was broken.

Not Sharing, Not Caring

When I shifted stuff around in the car trunk, I found a half empty can of Christmas Trash: chex cereal and nuts and cheese bits and pretzles baked with butter and salt and red pepper. It was still crisp. And yummy. Every last bite. Right then.

The Ego Is Not Your Friend

After another long day, culminating with the news of the death of my dead mother's best friend, my daughter's 1 1/2 hour phone call about work agony, the evening check-up call to Miss Fran to discover she's loopy on codeine (save some for me!), I sat down for an hour and a half of special features on these girls:




I remember years ago when I came home one night, and my husband said, there's this British comedy and you need to see it, and he sat me down in front of the t.v., and within seconds my brain screamed: THAT'S THE VOICE IN MY HEAD!

Dead on.

They still keep me laughing.

He Gets Me

My baboo was the one who ordered In the Woods for me. He doesn't like musicals, fairy tales, or generally movies where things don't explode. He sat with me while I watched it. That would be like me ordering a 1950s Z zombie movie for him, and I probably wouldn't sit through the whole thing. It's still love, after all these years.

It's Been a Helluva Month

he said three times, and when I said more than a month, he said, okay a year, it hasn't been a good year, and it's true, this year has seemed more assaulting than the Year of Funerals, when we attended one or two funerals a month from January to October, maybe we're getting old and not so resiliant, and that's why tonight I was glad to couch potato and watch Stephen Sondheim's Into the Woods.



And I would watch it again, my friend, with you.

Note to Mommas: The first half is Grimm's Fairytales for Children, and there is a reason they are called Grimm's. The second half is Grimm's Fairytales for Adults. I don't know how your nine-year-old will respond to this half, but come on over and let's watch it together.

A Match Made in Heaven?-or- Is It True, When You Live Together Long Enough, Your Brains Look Alike?

ROMANTIC:

I: Last night I dreamed of a red hibiscus.

He: Last night I dreamed of a red hibiscus.



INTENSE:

when he was working too hard, too long, the children had driven him crazy, and he stormed upstairs, leaving me standing with my eyes closed and head bowed in our tiny kitchen:

I, thinking: Dear Lord Almighty, he needs to get a life.

feet thundering on the stairs, through the dining room, butler's pantry, into the tiny kitchen, he grabs me by my shoulders, looks into my eyes, and says: I NEED TO GET A LIFE.



MUNDANE:

(while watching Cube Zero ):

I think: This is Lost without the airplane.

He says: This is Lost, only with cubes.



ENOUGH ALREADY:

I: Look at this website.

He: She seems to be having a good time with her blog.

I: She makes me laugh. I want to write funny like her. I think: except I can’t, I’m too damned sincere.

He: You can’t. You’re too sincere.

Just When You Thought You Were Going To Take Yourself in Hand

you discover The New Yorker posts fiction on-line.

You Might Suspect You Haven't Been Having Enough Fun...

when for once in a blue moon you go to the posh breakfast place, then look out the window and across the street to the posh boutique hotel, see clothes on a rack by a curb, and think yard sale...that might be interesting before you realize you're watching posh guests leaving the posh boutique hotel.