trouble.
Then she strutted to the edge of the bed.
"Where are you going?"
I'll be sleeping in the living room tonight.
"Don't be that way, Prozac."
This was the second time this week she was
walking out on me. Why did I get the feeling
that if she had opposable thumbs she'd be calling a divorce lawyer?
"If you stay, I'll bring you leftovers from the
restaurant. "
She shot me a baleful look.
Who do you think you're talking to? An alley cat? I
can't be bribed with leftovers. A T-bone steak, maybe. A
carton of moo shoo pork. A pepperoni pizza. But not
leftovers.
Of course, she didn't really say all that, but I
could tell by the angry swish of her tail that's
what she was thinking. Then, with said tail held
high, she headed out to the living room. I got
out of bed and followed her.
"Prozac, you can't seriously be mad at me for
going out on a date."
Let's put it this way. If I were you, I wouldn't put
your feet in your slippers without checking for wet
spots.
She jumped up on the sofa and began clawing my favorite throw pillow with a vengeance
normally reserved for my pantyhose.
I headed back to bed, feeling a lot like a guest
on a Jerry Springer show: "Single Women Who
Cheat on Their Cats-And Live to Regret it."
YOU'VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: The Last Leaf
Oh, honey. It's been just awful. Daddy's been
moping around the house, convinced he's
cursed. (And he refuses to take the Vita-Mans;
he says they give him indigestion.)
It's just like that O. Henry story, The Last Leaf,
where a young girl is convinced she's going to
die when the last leaf on a wall outside her window has died. It's all in her mind, of course, and
her neighbor goes out and paints a leaf on a wall
and saves her life.
Well, I decided to do the same thing. Not paint a
leaf, of course. I'm such a terrible artist, and I
doubt that would do any good, anyway.
But I decided to scour the city until I found a shirt
just like Daddy's "lucky" Hawaiian shirt. I must've
gone to every thrift shop and vintage clothing
store in the greater Tampa area. I figured there
had to be a shirt like Daddy's in a store
somewhere.
I was wrong. I just about wore out my feet looking and came up empty-handed. Then, just when
I was about to give up hope, I saw a homeless
man wheeling a shopping cart, and he was
wearing a shirt just like Daddy's! For a minute I thought it actually was Daddy's, that the homeless man had bought it at the thrift shop, but
when I looked at it closely I saw it was in much
better condition than Daddy's.
Everett, the homeless man, was a very nice fellow, just a little down on his luck, poor dear. I
gave him twenty dollars for the shirt, and he was
so grateful, he offered me half of the Twinkie he
was eating, which was awfully nice of him. But
Dr. May has ordered Daddy and me to cut down
on sweets, so of course I said no.
I brought the shirt home and added a few
ketchup stains, and now I'm going to tell Daddy
that the thrift shop ladies called and said that
they found his shirt, and then this whole horrible
ordeal will be over!
Lots of love and kisses from your very relieved,
Mom
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Born Yesterday
Hi, lambchop-
Your mom tried to fool me by pretending she
found my lucky shirt. But I wasn't born yesterday.
I could tell right away it wasn't mine. It was missing my lucky gravy stain on the lapel. I'll never
forget that stain. I got it the night I whupped Ed
Peters' fanny at Pictionary.
Well, I guess I'll go fix myself a snack. Just keep
your fingers crossed I don't have an accident on
my way to the kitchen.
Your poor old,
Daddy
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: I'm So Mad, I Could Spit!
Argggh! I'm so mad, I could spit. After all the
trouble I went to, Daddy knew right away the
shirt wasn't his. All because of a stupid gravy
stain. Good Lord. Your father can spill a glass of
red wine on a white carpet
Then she strutted to the edge of the bed.
"Where are you going?"
I'll be sleeping in the living room tonight.
"Don't be that way, Prozac."
This was the second time this week she was
walking out on me. Why did I get the feeling
that if she had opposable thumbs she'd be calling a divorce lawyer?
"If you stay, I'll bring you leftovers from the
restaurant. "
She shot me a baleful look.
Who do you think you're talking to? An alley cat? I
can't be bribed with leftovers. A T-bone steak, maybe. A
carton of moo shoo pork. A pepperoni pizza. But not
leftovers.
Of course, she didn't really say all that, but I
could tell by the angry swish of her tail that's
what she was thinking. Then, with said tail held
high, she headed out to the living room. I got
out of bed and followed her.
"Prozac, you can't seriously be mad at me for
going out on a date."
Let's put it this way. If I were you, I wouldn't put
your feet in your slippers without checking for wet
spots.
She jumped up on the sofa and began clawing my favorite throw pillow with a vengeance
normally reserved for my pantyhose.
I headed back to bed, feeling a lot like a guest
on a Jerry Springer show: "Single Women Who
Cheat on Their Cats-And Live to Regret it."
YOU'VE GOT MAIL!
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: The Last Leaf
Oh, honey. It's been just awful. Daddy's been
moping around the house, convinced he's
cursed. (And he refuses to take the Vita-Mans;
he says they give him indigestion.)
It's just like that O. Henry story, The Last Leaf,
where a young girl is convinced she's going to
die when the last leaf on a wall outside her window has died. It's all in her mind, of course, and
her neighbor goes out and paints a leaf on a wall
and saves her life.
Well, I decided to do the same thing. Not paint a
leaf, of course. I'm such a terrible artist, and I
doubt that would do any good, anyway.
But I decided to scour the city until I found a shirt
just like Daddy's "lucky" Hawaiian shirt. I must've
gone to every thrift shop and vintage clothing
store in the greater Tampa area. I figured there
had to be a shirt like Daddy's in a store
somewhere.
I was wrong. I just about wore out my feet looking and came up empty-handed. Then, just when
I was about to give up hope, I saw a homeless
man wheeling a shopping cart, and he was
wearing a shirt just like Daddy's! For a minute I thought it actually was Daddy's, that the homeless man had bought it at the thrift shop, but
when I looked at it closely I saw it was in much
better condition than Daddy's.
Everett, the homeless man, was a very nice fellow, just a little down on his luck, poor dear. I
gave him twenty dollars for the shirt, and he was
so grateful, he offered me half of the Twinkie he
was eating, which was awfully nice of him. But
Dr. May has ordered Daddy and me to cut down
on sweets, so of course I said no.
I brought the shirt home and added a few
ketchup stains, and now I'm going to tell Daddy
that the thrift shop ladies called and said that
they found his shirt, and then this whole horrible
ordeal will be over!
Lots of love and kisses from your very relieved,
Mom
To: Jausten
From: DaddyO
Subject: Born Yesterday
Hi, lambchop-
Your mom tried to fool me by pretending she
found my lucky shirt. But I wasn't born yesterday.
I could tell right away it wasn't mine. It was missing my lucky gravy stain on the lapel. I'll never
forget that stain. I got it the night I whupped Ed
Peters' fanny at Pictionary.
Well, I guess I'll go fix myself a snack. Just keep
your fingers crossed I don't have an accident on
my way to the kitchen.
Your poor old,
Daddy
To: Jausten
From: Shoptillyoudrop
Subject: I'm So Mad, I Could Spit!
Argggh! I'm so mad, I could spit. After all the
trouble I went to, Daddy knew right away the
shirt wasn't his. All because of a stupid gravy
stain. Good Lord. Your father can spill a glass of
red wine on a white carpet
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