It’s one of those kind of days here today. Last Monday, Dearly Beloved came into the den very early and said, “Monday mornings are tough. Sure wish I could take the day off from work and go back to bed.”
Then he grinned and said, “Oh wait. . . I’m retired! See you in an hour or so.” And proceeded to go back to bed.
I don’t know when he’s going to tire of that act. It’s a recurring performance around here.
Today, however, he had to go to Charleston, so he was on the road a little after 6 a.m. Miss Piggy and I took a walk earlier than usual, but she managed to do her doodie duty so that we were back home before the serious rain began. Perhaps her speedy performance was helped by the old shrimp shells she unearthed and ate from the compost pile over the weekend.
She is such a little sneak; she’ll sit in front of us, staring intently, until one of us says, “Do you need to go out?” At that point she leaps and dances wildly as if she is being saved from imminent bladder collapse, yet when we let her out, she doesn’t pee at all, but races to the compost pile to see what’s cooking.
If I throw bread crumbs out for the birds, she will stay outside for hours until she finds every little bit of crust in the grass. The dog is a pig. Period.
She is also a chicken. We believe some of her neuroses came from her years at the puppy mill. If I hit the “extra steam” button on my iron, she runs. The click of my camera shutter sends her into hiding. Last night, something–I don’t know what–sent her into DB’s closet. Perhaps she heard the weather report. When I looked in amid the shoes this morning and greeted her, she wiggled her nubby little tail a couple of times but didn’t even open her eyes. In other words, she slept in.
The house painter who couldn’t come last Monday to paint our exterior trim because of rain won’t be coming this morning either. This is the paint job that DB and I told ourselves we were going to do ourselves last fall… spring… summer… before finally hiring someone. Be assured that the painter will get to it faster than we would.
What sent me off on Bitch Boulevard this morning was NBC. Who chooses those dumbass segments on The Today Show, anyway? Forget the kid performing with all the hoopla you’d have thought might have been reserved for the Second Coming of Elvis. I didn’t know or watch him, but I’m sure pre-teen girls went nuts, so that was fine with me. (Gee, where is American Bandstand when you need it?)
It wasn’t even that they interviewed that arrogant, blowhard gasbag, Rush Limbaugh today. I detest him, but he turned out to be helpful; reminded me that I’d rather pick up dog poop, so I turned it off and did exactly that.
No, what frosted me was that the Today Show paraded out the Duggar family again to let us know the sperm are still swimming. Jim Bob and Michelle along with their thundering herd of 18 kids, including the newest baby and, of course, the perpetual “one in the hopper” were joined this time by their first grandchild.
The fact that Michelle Duggar is pregnant again is about as newsy as reporting that Limbaugh criticized the President. She’s always pregnant.
Am I the only one who doesn’t understand the attraction of having them on after every birth? Is NBC trying to entertain us? Well, we are not amused. For gawd’s sake, give ’em that trip to New Yawk City and tell me about the years they show a little restraint! When you finally see a Pray for Menopause bumper sticker on the family vans, that might be news. After all, what about Jim Bob’s carbon footprint? (Well, it’s not exactly his foot now, is it?)
Even though I didn’t watch it, I found myself thinking of names for the segment. I won’t share them. Sometimes I amaze myself at the tacky places my mind can take me.
They’re probably a very nice family, but frankly. . . ?
Unless world peace depends on what goes on in that woman’s well-worn womb, can’t we see puppies, instead?