If Dearly Beloved gives that mad cackle one more time, I may have to bean him. He’s involved in a scavenger hunt with only one item on the list: the dog’s food bowl. Furthermore, he’s enjoying every minute of it because he thinks he’s going to find it in some stupid place where I mindlessly stowed it.
This morning I lay in bed in a semi-comatose state, a bowling ball banging back and forth against my aching skull. A side effect of the $300 cream I used last night or three days of rain? Whichever, I was not thrilled to be awakened by my too-cheery husband’s question: What did you do with Miss Piggy’s food bowl?
Let me pause here to say that even with all my faults —if I happen to have any–waking him in the morning is not one of them. The man is retired; let him sleep, as far as I’m concerned. Usually I get up quietly, schlep out for the paper, let the dog out to pee, then sit quietly with coffee and newspaper while he sleeps in peace. As a matter of fact, even if he’s out of town I still get up quietly, schlep out for the paper, let the dog out to pee, and sit quietly with the coffee and newspaper. I don’t exactly face the day; I circle it for a couple of hours.
Dearly Beloved –Mr. Sunshine, himself–thinks differently. If HE wakes first, the whole household (that would be me) must rise in celebration. His cheeriness manifests itself in several ways, the most annoying a whistle which, although it may vaguely resemble a tune, begins on a key neither major nor minor, sharp nor flat. I’d call it majorly minor and sharply flat. He somehow manages to slide between notes. Good Morning Sunshine, indeed!
Today’s question almost made me wish for the whistle instead.
“Not in the dishwasher,” he shouts gleefully from the kitchen.
The dog’s food bowl isn’t one she can move around. Her food stand is one of my more successful recycling projects. It’s a drawer from the kitchen redo, turned upside down with holes drilled for the bowls. I painted it, put little feet on it and while Miss Piggy still manages to get the wall behind it dirty (how she manages that is unknown) at least the floor stays relatively clean. I’ll add a picture of it. . . taken when both bowls were there. . . in case you’re minorly crafty, redoing your kitchen and in need of a food stand for your dog.
“Not in the pantry.” He is enjoying this WAY too much.
I am trying to look without being obvious about it. The garbage? On the washer or dryer? In a kitchen cabinet?
None of the above.
“Maybe you should go look under the covers,” DB suggests with a smirk. A grown man giggling like that is so undignified.
I’ve looked in the bathroom, under the kitchen sink, IN the washer. I don’t know WHERE the darned bowl is and I’m running out of places, however ridiculous, to search. I fed her last night. I remember mixing a little leftover brown rice in with her dry dogfood as a treat. What the heck could have happened to it between 7pm and 7am? Why am I assuming guilt in this? In truth, it does sound more like my modus operandi. I don’t even want to LIST the items long gone because I’ve put them in some stupid place, accidentally tossed, etc. Remember the lettuce in the pantry?
Could there be a third option as to what is causing my headache? Maybe that’s a dog food bowl banging around in my head.