Here’s what I did with my mantel/mantle/mantull/manteal last night. I think in the spring I’ll zest it up with the flamingo and my green vase and so on. And maybe literally add Zest. Just bars and bars of Zest.
When my friend Paula was getting married, I was a bridesmaid, so I was helping sample wedding cakes, which by the way is not too shabby. For my wedding cake, do you know what I wanted? White flavor. I like that white wedding cake flavor and had no desire to muck it up with butterscotch or mint julep creme or anything.
But Paula did, which is funny because she is without a doubt the fussiest eater I know other than Milhous. She only ever wants plain. If she were ever going to have sex with a woman, she’d pick Sarah Plain and Tall.
She doesn’t want the plains to be fruited.
We worked together, and she used to get mad because the bakery in our building made one plain scone a day and often they’d say, “Oh, we already sold it.”
This incensed her and I see her point. Why not make two? They knew she’d be there daily, asking for the plain scone.
MY POINT IS, I was over there tasting wedding cake, which is not too shabby of a task did I mention, and one of the flavors was lavender, which is pretentious AF but what can you do. I rather enjoyed it, however, except for when her husband said, “Are you trying the lavender? Doesn’t it taste like you’re eating Zest?”
And right then, lavender cake was ruined for me, forever by Judy Blume.
Anyway, one of you wants me to move the Collie over to OVERLAP the Boston terrier and I might but I have shit to do. (I’m back to discussing my mantelle.)
Remember last year when I felt like I had to pee all the time and I had 57 tests and surgery and finally they just said, “You’re an old lady”? And they gave me hormone cream and pills? (I’m done talking about my mantill now.)
Well, I’ve run out of pills and they won’t give me more unless I go in, which
me, beyond just selling the plain scone. You know they won’t look at any portion of my physical body. I’ll just tell them, you know, I feel like I gotta pee all the time if I forget to take the pill but if I take it I’m usually OK and they’ll say, “That’ll be 900 dollars, please. Here’s your refill.”
If I walk in there and the place is teeming with people I’m not staying.
Meanwhile, Iris’s antibiotics have kicked in a bit and she meowed to eat today. You’ve never seen someone more enthusiastically put a cat on a dryer. I mean, I’m sure that scenario comes up all the time for you, and when it does, believe me when I say I did it with more zest.
We have a theme today.
And she really ate. All week she’s been either not eating at all, or eating like my friend Paula when any food is mixed with any other food. “This pizza has something on it beyond cheese. I’m just peck at it delicately till you’re done then we can go.”
“Oh, this toast has butter. I can’t have anything on my bread.”
“May I have water without ice, please? I want my water plain.”
When she was a kid, the only thing my friend Paula’s mother could get Paula to eat was heads of iceberg lettuce. She put her on the dryer and gave her a bowl of lettuce.
Anyway, Iris looks better too. So, the terrible upper respiratory part of her illness is passing, but the inside irritable bowel/pancreatitis part is still there. She has lost two pounds in 10 days, and her fur is separating. Do you know that look? When cats’ fur get separated-looking?
But at least her nose isn’t stuffy and her one half of a good eye is open again.
I did call the vet’s office to see what the protocol was and if I can go inside with her if we have to have a final curtain call. If she has to eat on the big dryer in the sky. (Yes, I can.)
They asked me questions about did I want her ashes and yes, I do, and finally I said to the receptionist, who used to work at dog daycare so we go way back, “I hope Iris isn’t listening to this conversation.”
“Just tell her you’re calling for a friend’s cat.”
I’ve always enjoyed that receptionist. Once I saw her at a bar and it was so funny to see she had legs. She’s always behind a desk.
Remember going to bars? Although some of you still are! Great job! Thanks! For all of us who are high risk, thanks a bundle for doing your part! Nothing matters more than you getting your drink on.
Anyway I’d better go work and put gel in my hair for the big venture out to the doctor. It feels weird the days I know I have to really leave the house. It makes me kind of nervous. I’m like an old lady who plans one thing a day. “I can’t see you that day because I have to go to the bank.”
I’ll talk to you Monday, with my new pee pills and my same pissy attitude.