The sun finally showed itself briefly, although it’s pretty nippy outside. I hope we can medicate ourselves with sunshine; we’ve been going stir crazy around here.
It has rained all week: raindrops outside, ballgames inside. Baseball playoffs, college football, pro football, soccer. . . Dearly Beloved may have carpal thumb syndrome by now from all the activity with the remote. That’s been pretty much it, exercise-wise.
Last night it occurred to me that I was about to enter another state: Bonkers. I felt the pangs about the time DB was shouting something like, “run left, naked!”
He was not talking to me, but giving advice to the coach, quarterback, or somebody on the game he was watching; one team needed to naked reverse. (Is that the same as “get dressed”?) Then they didn’t Hail Mary, they hooked and laddered. Oh, the horror. He was distraught.
Since THEY weren’t listening, he began explaining to ME how they blew it and of course I, remedial knitter that I am, immediately altered my pattern from slip 1, k2, SKP, yo, k2, p2, k5, k2tog, k1, (yo, k1) twice to drop 1, mis-count 2, skip to instruction row above, drop a yo, skip to the wrong p2tog, omitting the 17 stitches in between. I screwed it up so badly I’d have been better off running up a ladder, naked, to hail Mary. And I’m not even Catholic.
“You know what would be a good idea? I think you should call those announcers and offer to stay on the phone with them during broadcasts so you can tell them what’s going on. You could do it without attribution, as a public service.”
He looked at me suspiciously. “Do you really think that or are you being sarcastic?”
Oh, I meant it. I really meant it.
In the meantime, Miss Piggy was lying in front of the fireplace, making little clicking, chomping noises like she was trying to eat with false teeth as she mined her leg for a real or imagined flea. Occasionally she moved to her sides to lick herself–loudly.
There was no chance the scarf I’ve been trying to make for two weeks was going to get past bib size and it was probably not wise for me to be holding pointed objects anyway. I decided to give the dog a bath.
This event is noteworthy only because “the dog” is Miss Piggy of the itchy skin and the flea allergies, the nervous habits like biting her feet, and the licking. . . oh my gawd, the licking!
Must do the ears if I have enough of the one ear cleaner that doesn’t gag me to smell it. Should I go with her dry seborrhea shampoo, her oatmeal and aloe shampoo, or her anti-fungal shampoo? What the heck–why not all of them?
Our soaking tub has a hose and sprayer, so I bathe her there even though it means I have to climb in with her or stand on my head to reach her. She’s quite good in a bath. . . TREAT COMING and she knows it. Dearly Beloved lifted and dried her when I finished, then gave her one of those jumbo bones–the lick-nibble-and gnaw it kind that’s supposed to keep her occupied for hours, or at least in one spot until she dried. Meanwhile I cleaned the tub and bathroom, then myself.
By the time I finished, she had already wolfed down the bone and was chewing on her feet again. She hadn’t even started to dry. I couldn’t believe it! So much for the $4 bone!! DB shrugged and said, “She eliminated the licking and nibbling steps.”
Before we went to bed she asked to go out several more times, giving us the “Will pee for treat” looks. We didn’t bite. Someone began shooting off fireworks several streets over so she headed for DB’s closet to hide and sleep among his shoes.
We went to bed ourselves and DB leaned over and smelled my hair. “You smell good,” he told me.
Probably the oatmeal and aloe shampoo.