Don’t let me forget that Edsel’s outside, will ya? He has a routine: The moment we wake up, he champs at the bit to get outside (by the way, it IS “champ” at the bit, and be sure to say “chomp” if you want to drive me berserk), then he comes in to eat noisily and with gusto, then he stampedes out the door again because apparently that food ran right through him.
But today, in a stunning show of outside-the-box thinking, he wanted out a THIRD time, and I figured this out by the dog snout .002 millimeters from the door handle. I’ve no idea why he wants out a third time, but my instinct tells me it’s the diarrheee—as Faithful Reader Paula H&B would say for reasons I can no longer recall—or it’s a crow. Crows really piss him off.
Maybe he ATE crow and that’s why the diarrheee.
At any rate, hello. On Facebook of June the other day, someone said her coworkers all say, “Happy Monday” and I want you to know if anyone did that to me at work I’d report them to HR for harrassment.
In other news, I knew this would happen: Now that I have a pandemic finish line in sight, I’m incredibly restless. I know many of you are still, you know, donning a mask and going to Old Navy anyway, but I have not. Now that I know that it’s just a few weekends till I can don a mask and go to Old Navy, I am BESIDE myself at how dull it is to be home all weekend. This weekend was dull.
I did wash the kitchen floor, not that that’s exciting, but it is because, much like the carrot of soon-you’ll-don-a-mask-and-get-a-pedicure lurking before me, I now know my days of washing that kitchen floor with Mr. Clean are almost over. Here’s why. Click here to find out more. Link in bio. You won’t BELIEVE what—
As you know, I live in a neighborhood of millhouses that were all built at the same time and in the same way. So it’s convenient when you’re wondering about something about your house, as your neighbors all have the same house. We have a private Facebook group now, where we ask each other things like, “Who here has finished your attic?” and so on.
So that’s how I heard the floor under my delightful beige tile is possibly hardwood. And this weekend, since I had nothing better to do, I looked up floor people, not that they’re flat and tiled, and for the first time in a year had people come into my house.
Well, that’s not 100% true. Remember last summer when the fridge and dishwasher stopped working and I had to call an electrician and they spent 45 minutes figuring out there’s a plug across the room that got its thing unpushed in the plug part?
Call June for all your electrical needs.
So, OK, second person in a year. Anyway, he came in and looked inside my heat vent and could see that I have PINE under this dumb floor. PINE. So he’s coming back next month after all my vaccine-getting and after waiting for the vaccine mold to gel and so on, and then Ima have pine floors and yes I know it’s softer stop telling me that like I’m Carrie Bradshaw always stomping about in my stilettos.
The dog just barked. And I have not one but TWO boy cats on top of me. Now what do I do? It was a single bark, so maybe he won’t do it anymore. Maybe he was warning the crow with one well-placed bark.
Also, as if the soon-I-can-don-a-mask-and-live news combined with the soon-my-kitchen-floor-will-not-be-beige news were not exciting enough, I have OTHER, even MORE exciting news that I cannot yet share but trust me, it’s lurking there. Like a crow over Edsel. I can tell you soon. And not in a Dooce “I’m creating something new but really I never will” kind of way.
Remember how she was going to sell us ripped t-shirts? Then remember how she built a studio and we were going to bask in the greatness of said studio?
We never heard about those things again.
THIS good news does not affect you, really, at all, but the point is I’ll TELL you about it eventually, when I can.
I’d better go. I have work and then my trainer and then in just 26 days, I will be free. With a mask.
P.S. I let the dog back in.