I'm just sitting here in my white cotton nightgown waiting for them to call me to tell me I have the job. Is hoping they'll call me at 10 a.m. the day after an interview a little too hopeful? Is sitting around in a white cotton nightgown at 10 a.m. a little too sad?
In the meantime, I had a dream about my Uncle Jim last night. I was at a family gathering and there he was! He was all healthy-looking and joking around and I felt like it'd be rude to say, "You're supposed to be dead! Why are you here?" so instead I just went with the flow and enjoyed his company.
Wouldn't that be nice? If people who had died could show up for things every once in awhile? Unless you're someone who hates family gatherings. Then imagine how irked you'd be to be all dead and relaxed then have to get up to go to some christening or something.
Am going to continuing proofing my FIVE TEXTBOOKS under the assumption that I'm going to get this job, and so I had better be off.
Oh! But I wanted to tell you that last night we were walking Tallulah, and this little boy was riding his bike in circles in front of his house. "What kind of dog is that?" he asked.
"She's a Beagle and a Pit Bull," I told him.
"WOW!" he said, impressed. I have to tell you that since the day I got this dog's DNA done, this is the first time I have ever told anyone what terrible breeds she is that anyone has ever said "wow" in a good way. Granted, my audience was five years old, but I'm taking it where I can get it.
"I have a dog that looks just like your dog," he said, which was interesting because I walk by his house every day and have seen cats but never a hint of a dog.
"She's all blonde, though, not blue and blonde," he continued. I did not want to tell him about the part where Tallulah is not blue most of the time; the whole mulberry-tree-berries-in-my-yard-the-dog-likes-to-roll-in-them story seemed too complicated. So I let a five-year-old think there are dogs who are blue and blonde. This is why it's good I never had kids.
"What kind of dog is your dog?" I asked instead of educating him.
"Oh, she's a pet bull and a Beagle," he said.
This is why I like kids. They lie like rugs. Also, the term "pet bull" is kind of perfect for Tallulah. It is like I have a pet bull. She charges around uncontrollably and she's stubborn and don't even try to wear red around her.
You know, technically she isn't a Pit Bull. She's an American Staffordshire terrier. But who are we kidding? It counts.
Here is a Pit Bull. And I enjoy whomever titled this photo in the first place, who felt the need to hyphenate "Pit Bull." Also, is this dog on 'roids?
Here is an American Staffordshire terrier. I mean, they're not that different. Also, I see so much Talu in this dog that I just want to kiss it up.
Here is a Tallulah. Maybe you can't see the Am Staff in her. But when she gets really excited her forehead wrinkles up and she looks all Am Staffy. Trust me.
See what I mean? She needs Botox.
Do you know what irks me? Is when people don't know from in-office plastic surgery procedures and they say, "And she has so much Botox in her lips she looks like she's wearing those wax lips!" Okay, you don't have BOTOX in your LIPS. You have collagen or some similar plumping device. Geez. I wish people would get their shallow needless cosmeceuticals straight.
Didn't I say I was leaving like seven hours ago? What I like about myself is my ability to dive right into my work. Because it's not like I have five books to proofread or anything.