‎"...a little 'trouty', but quite good" ~ Eve Kendall, North By Northwest

Friday, November 28, 2008

the secret lives of freshwater fish

I told a friend a sad story the other day, in the spirit of "you think that's bad? here's what happened to us..." and her eyes got big as saucers and she just stood there holding my hand and looking for signs of the stigmata because surely I'm a saint? Which is not at all how that's supposed to go down. Someone else is supposed to pick up and tell an even more horrifying tale. It's not good to be the last one to overshare.

As my friend stood there holding my hand, I had to put my free hand over our two hands, because as she was looking deep into my eyes with such compassion I was squelching a desire to sing "one, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!" Really, if someone holds your hand in the Thumb War position, it's hard not to oblige.

I would tell you the story so that you, too, could hold my hand and blink thrice in silence, but I made the whole thing into a joke at the time and I cannot for the life of me tell a funny story twice.

But I will tell you that just this second my mil and I scared the living daylights out of each other. Not only is she blind, she's a little deaf (although she can hear me making coffee from two miles off) and for reasons totally unrelated, she sleeps with her phone on her bed. Three times so far this evening she's knocked the phone off and I've gone in and recradled it to make it stop its infernal beeping. The last time I went in, just now, I leaned over her and hung up the phone and was not as quiet as the first two times or she was more awake and she jumped and yelled "WHAT?!?!?" into my ear which was about a foot away from her. I think we may have both wet our pants.

Also, (insert segue here) we're out of pie. I underestimated the amount of pie necessary to feed dinner guests, with enough left over to have for breakfast until Monday. If you don't have pie through the weekend, what is the point?

I already hit the upstairs neighbors up for dessert, so that line's been tapped. I was getting a vase off a shelf in the stairway the other night when I heard someone say "how do the downstairs neighbors know when we're taking dessert out of the oven?' And I said "dessert?" and barged right in. Oh helloooooooo, don't mind if I do.

And for the record, what may appear to be a sign of the stigmata is actually where I dropped a very heavy yet thankfully blunt knife on my toe on Thanksgiving. It still hurts. Send pie.

2 comments:

hungry james said...

Speaking of running out of pie... We actually had Thanksgiving dinner at my folks' house, which at the time seemed like a brilliant plan. No mess, no fuss, the couch is really comfy to pass out on, perfection! It wasn't until we got home that night that we discovered the fatal flaw in our plan. Eating at someone else's house = no leftovers for us. That's right. Stretched stomachs and no way to fill them. A weekend, a LONG weekend, devoid of turkey sandwiches, pie, stuffing, or anything else. It's almost as if the holiday had never happened. Sigh.
Luckily, after today, we'll have second best... Birthday cake!

Her Royal Troutness said...

That's just wrong. And I'm sorry I didn't leave you much in the way of b-day cake leftovers, either. You guys got kind of hosed all around.