Plum and Plumber

Hi, honey. I'm home!

My manicure's a wreck, my luggage returned from Luggage Hell, my inbox is stuffed with suggestions that my erections could be just like when I was twenty-one. If by that spammers mean those erections are someone else's they may be onto something. Where do I sign?

Larry, the little black cat bent on stealing your soul, cried the whole time I was gone - so says Paulie, who apartment-sat and cat-sat while I was camping in the Midwest. A three-year-old beagle decided she was my best friend. Cats, big busybodies, know all about who you've slept with, so Larry wouldn't speak to me last night. Today, he's much friendlier, having forgiven me for bedding down with with dogs even if I didn't get up with fleas.

The thing I wanted and needed was a week away from TV, phones and computers, not to mention blood relations waving guest lists or co-workers issuing demands as my employer takes away money it promised - but why should I be special in this Fuck You, I've Got Mine economy? There's only so much a person can do for simple peace of mind when the mind in question is in endless pieces.

Where's the express line for a new life?