Tuesday Three (a day late).
List three movies you could watch over and over again:
1) When Harry Met Sally.
2) O Brother, Where Art Thou?
3) Braveheart
List three things you’d like to do before you die:
1) Bungee jump.
2) Sky dive.
3) Zorb.
List three people who have helped influence who you are today:
1) My parents.
2) My siblings.
3) Fred and the Spud.
* * *
Around 1:30 Tuesday morning I was woken from a very deep sleep by someone knocking on my bedroom door, or calling to me or in some way waking me up. I flailed around to get free of the kitty blanket I was under (Mister Boogers pinning me down on one side, Miz Poo on the other, and Sugarbutt somewhere in the middle), and took my earplug out. I saw the spud standing in the doorway, looking at me.
“I think I might be getting an ear infection,” she said.
“Oh, does your ear hurt?” I said stupidly.
“Yes,” she said, wisely opting not to say something smartass to me, like Fred would have in her place.
“Okay,” I said, and had to stop and think for a moment. “Go take a couple of aspirin, and I’ll call the doctor’s office in the morning and get an appointment.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Don’t go to school,” I said, figuring I’d probably be able to get an appointment for her pretty early in the morning.
“Okay,” she said again, and went back to bed.
It took me forever to get back to sleep – perhaps due to the fact that Sugarbutt spent the next hour kneading and licking my neck – and I slept fitfully for the rest of the night. When I got up around 8, I knocked on the spud’s door and asked her if her ear still hurt. She stared off into space and pushed on her ear a few times.
“A little,” she said.
“Okay, I’m going to go call the doctor’s office,” I said.
“Should I go ahead and take my shower?” she asked.
“Yeah, and get ready to go,” I said, envisioning that they might give me an appointment in the next hour.
I called the doctor’s office, told them I needed the next possible appointment, and found that they didn’t have anything available until 1:45. I took that, and figured the spud could just hang out and catch up on her sleep – she didn’t get much sleep last weekend, between working and the prom and the seeing of the boyfriend – but when I told her they couldn’t fit her in ’til 1:45, she got upset.
“I’m going to miss all that school?!” she said, aghast.
(Which only confirmed my belief that she’s an alien child. Because what child, given the choice, wouldn’t be THRILLED to miss a day of school?)
“Well, I can drop you off at school and pick you up at 1:30 for your appointment,” I offered, but the look on her face made it clear that that was not an appealing thought.
“I’m going to miss my Spanish test!” she said.
“Well, then you’ll make it up tomorrow,” I said. “I’m going for a walk. I’ll be back in a while.”
I was putting my sneakers on when she came out into the garage and asked if I could take her to school and pick her up later for her appointment. I could, and I did.
So we got to the appointment on time, and they called her back to the examining room right on time, and I sat in the waiting room and waited. And waited. And waited. When it had been a little more than an hour, the spud came out and told me that she had strep throat.
Strep throat! I had no idea, though in retrospect I realized that her voice was kind of husky. But according to the nurse practitioner, her throat was very red and her ear – the one that hurt – was kind of red. In fact, they had to flush the wax out of her ears, and she apparently got a lecture about using q-tips in her ears.
Poor spud. She doesn’t have to miss any more school, though, and I guess that’s a good thing!
* * *
Y’all KNOW how much I love my DVR, right? Well, I still love it, only it has this weird habit that is rapidly getting all over my nerves. Two minutes before it’s about to start taping something, a little box pops up and it says “In two minutes (whatever) will start taping.” It stays there for about ten seconds, and then disappears.
So the other night we were watching something – I don’t remember what – and the box popped up.
“In two minutes,
So NoTORIous will start taping,” it read.
Fred opened his mouth.
“SHUT. UP,” I said.
So, in essence, the fucking DVR TATTLED on me. Why didn’t it just SAY “Hey, Fred, want to know what stupid fucking thing your wife is taping NOW?”?
Because he ALWAYS has to know what’s taping. He sees the red light on the DVR and says “What are you taping NOW?” Now, if I might ask, what bidness is it of HIS? It’s not like I make him watch all the stuff I watch – no, I watch most of the crap I tape on my own, during the day, while he’s at work, so he won’t whine about how Dr. Phil’s voice is making his head hurt.
But still, “What are you taping NOW?” he says.
“I don’t KNOW,” I always say, because (a) I usually don’t remember; the magic of the DVR is that you can SET IT and FORGET IT and (b) If I answer with “The Real Housewives of Orange County” or whatever, he will mock me and then I’ll have to swear at him, and it is oh-so-tiring to come up with new and inventive swears all the time.
Stupid tattletale DVR.
* * *
A few weeks ago I realized we were running low on checks, and so I went to
ChecksInTheMail.com, which is where I’d ordered the last batch from. I was going to go with the plain, boring
safety blue checks we already had, but I got to looking around and, well…
What’s better than a
Sugarbutt on a check? That’s right – NOTHIN’!
(I got return address labels, too, while I was at it!)
* * *
“Ah, zees lahf. Eet ees so hard. So hard to be a tubby Tommy in zees lahf.”
* * *
Previously
2005: E’gar goes into the shop.
2004: I must be mumbling or something today. Everyone I’ve spoken to has looked at me like I’m speaking French and they can’t understand what the hell I’m saying.
2003: No entry.
2002: Blah blah blah.
2001: No entry.
2000: “Um… you mean, she lies on your butt to muffle your farts?” he ventured.]]>