Oh, You!

Oh, you! You, Blakey, you! How do I thank you for that... um.... present you left on the place where we sleep? The gift I didn't discover for... many hours? How do I find just the right words to capture my... surprise? So surprised was I, so stunned, that I tried to scream but nothing came out. Oh, Blakey, you shouldn't have. But you did, didn't you? I always knew you were a giver, what with the kisses and the snuggles and the non-stop love you offer up daily. But this.... 

This particular offering was a bit over the top, if I'm being honest. I know, I know. It's the thought that counts. Listen, it's my fault anyway. I shouldn't have read you that bedtime story about the adorable rodent. Seriously. What was I thinking? 

I get it now. I really do. In your brain, "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" translated to, "If You Give A Dog A Mouse." So, you got a little mixed up. You took the concept and ran with it. You turned around and gave me... well, there's no nice way to put it. A mouse that had "ceased to be."

As Moses The Exterminator said to me when he came off the mount to answer my frantic call, "That dog, he's a hunter." "Oy, Moses, is he ever."

Forever And Ever

It's impossible to sum up in a few lines what her soulful voice has meant to me my entire life. Believe me, for me there is only her. Whether she's singing "You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman," “Day Dreaming,” "R-E-S-P-E-C-T," "Think," "Who's Zoonin' Who," or my all-time favorite "I Say A Little Prayer," the instant I hear her, I'm transported.

No matter the song or the locale, seated or standing, I'm dancing. I'm feeling every note. In that moment, I'm the happiest of humans. So thank you, Queen Aretha. You'll stay in my heart and I will love you forever.

Why, Puppy, Why?

When you buy a rug for the house, an area rug, a nice one, so pretty and bright like a sunburst, you think of many things. Will the sunny rug compliment the room? As in, "Such a nice room, thanks for welcoming me. I've heard good things about you." Will the sunny rug complement the room? As in, "You complete me. And vice versa." Over the years, nearly 18, a life-affirming number we'll reach in November, the sunny rug has experienced great joy and endured plenty abuse. A wine spill. A clump of chopped liver. No biggie. Easily handled with a spritz of carpet spray. But what about the other offenses? I refer you to the possum poo poo. This we didn't anticipate. God willing, a one-time event. Our first pooch, Dusty, the late great Eccentric Elderly Pup, did his business on the sunny rug more times than I'd like to remember. But I always forgave him. Why? I'll tell you why. Because I'm a forgiver. Sir Blakey arrived youngish and spunky and house-trained. Longtime hubby and I have kvelled over the respect he's shown the sunny rug. We've over-praised him, as we tend to do when it comes to anyone we've raised, for not dumping on the sunny rug. This morning, however, his pristine record took a turn. This morning, the Royal Rescue Pup of Questionable Lineage varmicked on the sunny rug, setting off a frantic scene, a rush for paper towels and carpet spray and queries of "Why, puppy, why?" Followed by the more empathetic, "Oh, no, puppy, are you okay?" His tale answered with a happy wag. Kina hora, poo poo poo, much like the possum kaka, his morning upchuck will be a one-time thing. But I'm keeping the paper towels nearby, just in case.

The Five W's and the H of the SJG

You've got someone better in mind? 

I know, right?

If not now...

You're backstage, waiting for your curtain call.

As opposed to? 

How should I be?

What's Your Superpower?

Dear SJG,
Your whole life, you've been complaining about being left-handed. In honor of International Left-Handers Day, we're thinking it's enough already with the complaints about being left-handed. Just between us, no one cares, expect maybe other left-handers. Listen, there are worse things in life than being left-handed. Wouldn't you rather be left-handed than left out of all the fun activities people plan behind your back because they can't stand you? That's so much more hurtful, and we speak from personal experience. So what if you walk around with the left side of your left hand smudged. So what if the world was designed by right-handed folks for right-handed folks. By now, you should be used to it. Sixty (and a half) years you've been harboring this grudge. It's time to face facts. Right-handed peeps are superior. Get over yourself.
Sincerely,
Righteous Right-Handers of America
P.S. We've included this helpful handout. It's never too late to change:

Dear R.R.H.A.,
As a lifelong leftie, I have every right to complain. (See what I did there?)
You're Welcome,
The SJG
P.S. I've included this helpful ambidextrous response from someone we all admire:

Happy Left-Handers Day, Bitches!

SPEAKING IN ALL CAPS

"Nice party." "What?" 

"Oh my God," I said to a nice lady at our table. "I'm officially old."
"What?"
"I'm officially old."
"I'm cold, too."
"Not cold. Old.
"Old?"
"Yes."
"Sorry, I can't hear anything."
"I know. That's why I left the dance floor. And I love to dance."
"CAN WE SPEAK IN ALL CAPS?"
"SURE. I LEFT THE DANCE FLOOR CUZ THE MUSIC WAS TOO LOUD."
"YOU SHOULD DO WHAT I DO AT THESE THINGS."
"WHAT DO YOU DO?"
"I WEAR EAR PLUGS."

Things We Say While Watching TV

"I wouldn't do well in this prison." 

"This prison or any prison." 

"How do you think I'd do on a deserted island 

with a hunky Scotsman?" 

"You'd manage." 

"Can you see me crawling up the side of a building?"

"I can see you crawling past a building." 

 

"How many of those side effects do you think I'd experience?" 

"With your luck, all of them." 

"Can't we find something nice to watch?" 

"Sure. Turn off the TV."