I guess my most thrilling news is that they changed the light in the vending machine at work.
“Hey, Griff, did you see the new light in the vending machine?!” I asked Griff, my coworker, and I guess this last part of this sentence was unnecessary. Also, how horrible must it be to deal with me every day?
We have three vending machines, not including the soda machines, which I never use. One of the vending machines is “healthy” and has offered exactly the same things for three years and I never want to see a peanut butter Cliff Bar for the rest of my life. The other two are regular bad-for-you machines that have a delicious variety.
There’s one machine near Griff’s desk, and I’ve seen him leave notes on said machine re his gum. “Gum didn’t pop out,” one of his notes read, and I enjoyed his colorful language. That is the note of an editor. Not just that it didn’t come out. No. It didn’t POP out.
“I just walked past that machine. It didn’t have a new light,” kvetched Griff. Kvetching is his preferred method of communication.
“It does, though,” I said. “They even have a sign up touting their new light.”
Sure enough, we went over to the machine and there was, you know, everything. You know how sometimes there’s a noise, but you don’t really notice it till it’s gone? Almost eight years now I’ve been staring into the murky depths of our candy machine, not quite realizing that half the time, I’m all, “Now, are those Cheetos in that top row or Chesse-Its?” You really couldn’t see in there, it was so dark and mysterious.
“Now lit by LED!” the sign proclaimed. Oh, the Fritos were fluorescent. The Doritos were displayed. Everything was in its full glory, as junk food ought to be.
Meanwhile, the dryer really seems to be shrinking m’pants.
And that’s really the end of that story, except they no longer sell gum. “The gum row is empty,” kvetched Griff.
“Why don’t you just get gum at the store?” I asked him.
“I always forget, and besides, it was 50 cents in there. Where else are you gonna get that kind of deal?”
Meanwhile, Kitty Karry-All, over here, is obsessed with my candles. I put them on top of the armoire, but then the whole time I have one lit, he’s this guy. He’s Stare-y Grant. Also, could you make a note in the margins that the next cat is for sure getting named Kitty Karry-All?
Dear Mom: It was the name of Cindy Brady’s doll. See. Is why that’s funny. Kitty Karry-All was the Mrs. Beasley of The Brady Bunch.
Anyway, I fear that one day he won’t be able to stand it, and he’ll actually be able to leap to the top of the armoire, and burn his face off and then he’ll be, like, Make-a-Wish burned face kitty and at least maybe we’ll get to go on a cruise or meet ‘N Sync or something, and that is why it’s always good to look for the silver lining.
Really, he’s obsessed with everything, Milhous is. No open closet goes unexplored. No cupboard is not crawled into. You’ve no idea how many times a day I hear a muffled “mew” and he’s gotten himself stuck in something. Why can’t I ever get the mellow kitten? You know who was a mellow kitten? Iris. I should always pick blind cats.
Finally, I leave you with one more thing: Something seems to be wrong with Edsel. I mean, aside from the obvious.
When Edsel fetches Blu, he runs pretty hard for five or 10 minutes, but then when he comes in, it almost seems like he’s unsteady on his feet for a bit. The other day he was crossing his paws in front of each other while he walked like he was on the high-fashion runway. “collur by ver-sotch-eee.”
And when we’re in the car and he’s sitting in the passenger seat, I can’t QUITE see it, but it almost seems like his front legs are shaking. I see it out of the corner of my eye, but when I look, it’s not happening.
Also too, and this is my final example, he’s sleeping more often. In the morning, he used to always know the second I was awake, and leap onto me ecstatically, and now he just remains snoring in his bed. And it seems like he doesn’t want to… hoist himself up.
I know this means I have to make my monthly visit to my vet with the butch haircut. I really like my vet with the butch haircut–she’s pretty brilliant. Sometimes I want to encourage her to grow her hair shoulder-length and scrunch the waves, but I don’t know that that would be a welcome suggestion. A little mascara and a tinted sunscreen wouldn’t hurt, either.
Also, her receptionist is this hot young tomboy girl who I have a serious crush on, and I don’t know why I’m, like, lesbian for a minute, but you should see me turn on the charm with that receptionist. She really is appealing. She’s like Leather Tuscadero cute. I’ll bet I could win her over with my current references.
Anyway, then I leave the office and I’m straight again, but that’s not why we’ve gathered here. We’ve gathered here to talk about the new LED light in the vending machine and also, what do you think is up with the Eds? Is it arthritis? Is eight and a half old enough for arthritis?
Is eight enough to fill our lives with love?
Don’t say it.
Don’t say it.
Go live your life like bright and shiny new dimes.
June, who has a plate of homemade wishes on the kitchen windowsill