Saturday, March 03, 2007

I'll Take A Little Or I'll Take A Lot

I made the mistake of waking up happy this morning. The sun was shining, NBC-TV promised 55 degrees, and I felt pretty good, so I was completely pissed that I had nothing to complain about. Damn it. I expect a certain level of flavorful misery, and if things are looking up, I'm waiting for pigeon poop. Perplexed, I left the apartment at noon, walked to town, to the library, where I retrieved something I'd left at work yesterday, then I walked to the health food store. By then, my hair was floating above my head like a fuzzy bronze cloud and my eyes were so irritated by something in the air I was trying to walk up Route 27 with my eyes closed. Fortunately, I spent my childhood pretending I was Helen Keller, so even that was nothing to complain about, but I arrived at the health food store determined to discuss homeopathic medicines for wanting to kill your sister and found the Chinese medicine practitioners missing. Only a teenage boy was evident, and he wastes his youth pretending not to follow me through the store. I like him. He's very sweet. But I'm not having a conversation with him like -

Tata: Do you have a homeopathic remedy for when my sister is a complete bitch?
Boy: Only if she's imaginary, and we'd need third party confirmation of that, ma'am.

- so I walked across the street in the glorious sunlight to the Extortion Mart and couldn't find baking pans. At last, something to complain about, and not even finding foil pans stopped me. I'll be baking every week. I might need pans - and no one should forget it!

Two and a half hours after I left the house, I arrived home and checked messages. Daria and I had talked on the phone twice before noon, but she's nothing if not thorough.

Daria: Darla updated the blog, they're getting ready to leave the hospital and Fifi needs a nap. Peace out, dog.

Though I was desperate to talk with Dad again, I took my cue from the toddler and lay down for a nap. Dad and Darla would need some time to settle in, I thought. Some time passed -

...feelings! nothing more than feelings! trying to forget my...

- and after the musical interlude, I called Dad's house.

Tata: I'm relieved that you're home from the hospital.
Dad: So you are crazed with worry?
Tata: I'm keeping my cards close to my vest. Speaking of my vest, there's a man resisting my otherworldly appeal. If you will.
Dad: Is he exceptionally stupid?
Tata: Thanks, Daddy! I'll call you tomorrow.

I've got no complaints at all.


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