Within ten minutes of my eyes opening, we're on the sidewalk which leads to it's own type of adventure because I don't think I am completely awake until after we cross Washington Blvd. If it hasn't become obvious, I shall never be noted for my artful use of mascara and now that I have a multi-directional haircut? I don't even bother with a baseball cap.
I don't think it's nice manners for a dog to have to wait around to visit trees while their person applies concealer. If this qualifies Grantley as spoiled? Then I guess I shouldn't tell you that I let her sniff the individual groceries as I take them out of the bag because I never want her to suffer with the shrinking brain that comes from lack of stimulation. Not if I can help it.(And I hope she feels the same about me. Just for the record.)
So, we're on the second block headed north and Grantley, all of a sudden, stops and stares toward the street. On the other side of Scoville, there's a woman in a white hat with a white and black dog and she calls out: You know what your dog is looking at, don't you?
Remember I have just re-joined humanity from a night at Betty White's party(so to speak)so I reply with something severely eloquent like: Whut? (Which is a combination of duh and what. Try it. It's very useful especially around media law attorneys and cell phone salesmen.)
She gestures toward a bunny near the curb. I say: Oh. Yeah. She just wants to sniff them. (That's what she does. She likes to track them but she's never brought one home for dinner except for that one which we Do Not Discuss.)
Madame Chapeau-blanc says: That's what we'd like to THINK about our dogs, don't we? (As if Grantley is on some sorta ten most wanted list in the post office at Farmer McGregor's, ya know? Hate the crime, lady. Not the criminal.)
I thought Jaysus, Mary and Joooo-siff, I just woke up and it's startin' already. And I sent out an instant prayer that went a little something like this: Lord? Please do not let this brand of high ridiculocity be a theme for my day. Thanks very much/Sorry to bother You with my trivial crap/Amen. And we continued on our way but the consternation had already been implanted and my head was in a virtual tsunami worthy of the opening sequence of Hawaii 5-O.
My eyebrows were like knitting needles frowning about all the different things I had to do. Meet Lindsay by The Bean, go see Fran and Ed's new house of massage in Brookfield, new dentisting on Monday, get At Least One surface of my seven hundred work spaces cleared off(I went with the kitchen sink. An excellent choice.), plus this, that and the other and suddenly at the corner of Washington and Ridgeland, I thought: hey. Wait a doggoned minute. (See? I'm still channeling Mister Ned from Bozo's Circus).This madness is exactly the life you wanted to have.
And I thought, oh yeah/totally true.
I can't say that we skipped home but I also can't say that we didn't.