I suspect I have already made abundantly clear my feelings regarding the girls’ love of dressing up the dog, but if you need clarification, suffice it to say that I don’t approve, but I recognize that my approval is not required. Even so, as I watch the dog prance around (and seemingly happily so, I will reluctantly admit) in a frilly canine “party dress,” I remind myself that it really could be worse.
At least she’s not wearing the dress that makes her look frumpy.
As a follow-up to last week’s “dog in a dress” post, while I remain unconvinced of the girls’ argument that “she likes it,” I will concede that Isa doesn’t seem to protest the treatment. On the other hand, I am personally pleased to note that Isa has made her feelings abundantly clear that she draws the line at wearing bows in her fur.
Before I forget, a quick Christmas memory that made me happy:
At one point L’s Mother was talking about how she wanted everyone in the house to have a good holiday even if she had to use “the power of her mind” to make that happen.
Having literally waited years for this particular opening, I turned with a smirk and asked her if that meant she was wishing us a “Jolly Svengali Christmas.”
It’s funny how one can discover one’s limits. For instance, I have no problem scooping up a wiggling and yapping little dog and tucking her under one arm when I answer the door. But as I discovered yesterday, I will not answer the door like that when said dog has been dressed in a ballerina outfit by the girls.
You know you’re talking to family when you mention in passing that you’re feeling queasy this morning and that almost never happens to you, and the instant response is “Maybe you’re pregnant.”
It’s been an odd week, so it seems appropriate that I round it out with an odd memory. I’ve mentioned before that my grandmother had many fears, storms being the biggest one I knew of, but she was none too fond of snakes either. In practical terms this meant three things:
#1. Living in rural Arkansas as she did, she was living in the wrong place.
#2. Going anywhere except from the house to the car guaranteed that she would yell at you at least once to ensure that you were wearing boots. (And that they had been sprayed down with “chigger spray,” but that was just sensible if you wanted to be able to sleep relatively itch free that night.)
#3. She was in many, many ways a timid woman, but if she saw a snake in the garden, she would display her latent ninja skills and dispatch it with a hoe faster than lightning. Unlike lightning though, the only sound she would make would be if, and only if, it was necessary to tell you to stand still for a moment.
Yesterday a storm rolled in with surprising speed, and I found myself thinking of my grandmother and how she absolutely loathed such storms.
That’s why when I alerted Lala (who was taking a bath at the time) about the storm, I found myself saying, “Lala Lou! There’s a storm comin’ in!”
Me: (thinking) That looks like some kind of delicious cinnamon cereal! (out loud while resisting the urge to steal a piece from the bowl while Lala isn’t looking) “What is that?”
Lala: “Pork rinds.”
Me: (blanching) “I’m really glad I didn’t steal some then!”
Lala got me some beard conditioner for Father’s Day because there have been one too many “Ouch! Pokey!” complaints from the household of late, and I wanted to give some conditioner a shot. When she gave it to me I found myself looking mildly askance at the brand name, “Naked Prince.”
“I prefer princesses, given a choice . . .” I started to say, but Lala both cut me off and topped my intended joke.
“Especially for rubbing on your face,” she concluded for me as innocently as it’s possible to say something like that innocently.
Today was one of those days when I just didn’t feel right when I woke up, and I only felt worse as the day wore on. The highpoint of my day was losing (and I mean profoundly losing) a game of Yahtzee to my son.
That was a pretty good highpoint though.
