Dear Friends, yes, that is my motto. Two words now: it’s time.
I had a very bad night.
In the early evening, I headed to Rite-Aid to restock the Lee Home Infirmary, despite DB’s brave protestations that he could survive until today without medication.
In response to a clerk’s offer of help, I said, “My husband is sick with a cold. Please point me toward the Cold Remedies aisle and, in case that doesn’t work, which one is the Gun Aisle.”
The cold medicines were on Aisle 18. For the gun, I’d need to talk to the woman in the back, she told me. As I schlepped over to 18, the clerk burst into — no joke! — a robust rendition of Rescue Me that would have dazzled Simon Cowell. It could be heard throughout the store.
Mucinex-DM, saline solution, Vicks Vaporub, cough drops… I dropped the bag on the table beside DB’s sofa, then hit my own sofa for a while. The chew treats I’d bought the dogs to ease their boredom turned out to be a bad decision. Miss Piggy kept stealing Ivy’s. I took it away from her several times before finally going to bed and leaving Ivy to fend for herself.
During this siege, DB has slept in the guest room. Remember, this is a man who can’t sleep if I’m reading in bed because my page turning disturbs him. So, when I awoke, coughing and gagging in choked panic at 2 AM, my throat completely closed, I thought he’d be right in to check on me..
Now were The Late Howard Lee still alive, as the alpha dog he would have been immediately standing by my side, his anxious face inches away from my own. Miss Piggy, however, simply left the bedroom for a quieter spot. To my surprise, though, Ivy tippy-toed back to see what was going on.
Still no sign of DB.
Miss Piggy, brazen hussy that she is, took advantage of the situation to sneak into the den and steal Ivy’s treat. I happened to notice when I staggered to the kitchen to get a Diet Coke. (Logic being that if it can clean a toilet bowl, it could clear out the crud in my throat.)
I took the treat away from Miss Piggy and tossed it back into Ivy’s bed, then settled back on my own with my Diet Coke and Riccola honey-lemon cough drops to watch a very old episode of Frasier. I had coughed up a headache, so sleep evaded me for too long.
Nary a peep from the guest room.
About 7 AM, a furry Lady MacBeth woke me from my headachy stupor. She was pacing the hall, squealing and squeaking… looking for a place to hide the stolen treat she held clamped in her jaws. The dog is going to get lockjaw. I lay there, hoping that Someone Else would get up and handle the situation.
The guest room remained closed. No sign of Someone Else.
I got up to let the dogs out and found Ivy sleeping on the den sofa–a definite No No. That explained how Lady MacBeth had pilfered the chew again.
Ordinarily I would have protested Ivy’s infraction, but my voice was barely a croak.
Besides, she’d been sleeping on the His Sofa.
(Absence of Alternatives included this video in a Comment yesterday. I think she would testify on my behalf if I have to visit the woman in the back at Rite-Aid.)