There's this company that I have wanted to call me for weeks, and just a few minutes ago I had a giant piece of chicken in my mouth and the phone rang. I thought, "Oh, this'll be the time that company will be calling." Sure enough. Guess who it was. I had to spit the half-chewed piece into a bowl and be all "Hellooo?" like I was Grace Kelly.
Anyway, I think I have an interview; they have to discuss my exorbinant salary requirements first.
In other news, Tallulah is annoying.
One thing you cannot say about this beast is she is not a flibbertyjibbet. She has laser focus when she wants to have it, and it makes you want to set yourself on fire.
Yesterday she went to dog day care all day, because my friend Laurie came over to help me paint that hutch, which has now taken more time than was given to the Sistine Chapel. Both dogs have paint on their ears now from my many projects, and I was thinking the fumes can't be helping their already questionable brain cells, plus I didn't want them underfoot.
So after a full day playing with many many dogs, including a Boxer who was literally leaping several feet above the crowd all day, Tallulah came home and had a lovely dinner that included a drizzle of extra-virgin olive oil and I wish I were making that up. I read somewhere it helps with one's coat if one is a dog.
Then she and Edsel went out 817 times as they had requested and at about 8 p.m. I got me some grape juice and set about taking that RIDICULOUS copyediting test that I have been working on for two days now, and it is the hardest thing you have ever seen, even harder than painting the Sistine Chapel, or that hutch.
Here is what Edsel did.
Here is what Tallulah did.
"What's the matter, honey?" I asked, knowing NOTHING COULD BE THE MATTER WITH THIS IRKSOME IRKSOME CREATURE. I thought maybe her mind was unstimulated, so I shook paws with her, and we did a down, and we did a turn around, and I commenced my test.
Three minutes later, here is her annoying self. With her focus, Tallulah would have made an excellent proofreader, really, had, say, squirrel's butts needed proofing.
(Now I am reminded of a story, which has nothing at all to do with Tallulah staring at me. I know I am extra extra super crunchy and irritating.
My grandmother had a squirrel in her basement, and every other man in my family must have been out at a spitting contest or some similar manly activity, because she called my Uncle Leo to come get the squirrel. Uncle Leo married into the family, and we all immediately took to my Uncle Leo, as he rocks the house, but he rocks the House of Pancakes more than he does the House of Manliness. Now I just made him sound fat, when in fact he is quite lanky.
At any rate, all of my grandmother's sons and brothers and her husband were the kind of men who were really athletic and sort of no-nonsense and who would have gone downstairs and come up with the squirrel head in their teeth, spit it onto a plaque and made a mount for Gramma in under five minutes. Uncle Leo was not that kind of guy. He likes history and Mark Twain and other boring things.
It would've never occurred to Gramma to call a woman, but really Aunt Sue would have grabbed that squirrel by the scruff and had it out of there quicker than any of the men.
So Uncle Leo gets over there and Gramma hands him a broom, because I guess he was supposed to sweep it into submission, and we hear him in the basement crashing around for awhile. He came back up looking sheepish.
"Did you get it?" Gramma asked doubtfully.
Uncle Leo shook his head. "Aw, nuts," he said.
You could tell he thought he was hilarious with this line, and because I was 11 and thought everything was hilarious, I started to giggle, which made him throw back his head and laugh like a hyeana, and soon we were falling all over ourselves laughing at the stupid "Aw, nuts" line like it was the best thing anyone ever said.
Gramma, who just wanted to stop doing her laundry accompanied by a squirrel as though she were Cinderella, and who did not see the humor in EITHER of us, grabbed the broom.
"Son of a BITCH," she said delicately, stomping down the stairs. "I have to do EVERYTHING myself."
Which just made us pee ourselves more, which Gramma probably also had to clean up. Poor Gramma.
If I look back on my life, I can think of at least 10 times Uncle Leo and I have gone into hysterics and the other people in the room just wished we'd shut the hell up. Remind me of the time we broke my mother's vacuum cleaner.)
Imagine how long she stared at me before I got my camera phone out.
"Who's there, Lu?"
Honestly, it's like she's trying to get me to begin screaming, then put on a Mr. Peanut outfit and run through my neighborhood singing Up Where We Belong in Latin, then come home and pop out her staring staring eyes with melon ballers and place tiny votive candles in the empty sockets and put her head outside as a cheerful St. Patrick's Day dog-o-lantern.
As you do.
That is her plan. I know it.
So I decided to mess with her.
"'is not 'unny."
"DIS HUMILIATE! BUTTAL REEGEN FINE!"
"Not reel howsewife! STOP!"
"Lu look at time. When it get so late?… Aw, nuts."