The Bus In Seconds Flat

Knowing as you do my naive charm and microscopic attention span, you'll be shocked to learn that today I will attend a twenty-year service luncheon. Yes, I've worked for the unnamed university for almost twenty-one years now and no one tripped me as I strolled past the industrial lawn mowers. It's kind of a miracle. Anyway, I'm not the luncheon type. What possessed me to RSVP in the affirmative? I don't know but if I have to contain my exuberance and zip my lips through canned speeches someone had better serve beef. You know, for the symbolism.

Over the weekend, I was in the drugstore, staring at aisle after aisle of wine bottles because I wanted to make chicken livers and rapidly losing the will to live. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young man moving deliberately, and I sensed he was about to do something interesting. I watched him pick two items. I grabbed a bottle of red - forgivable mistake - and followed him to the checkout. As soon as he'd paid and the door swung shut behind him, I blurted to no one and everyone, "That guy bought a SuperSoaker and a bottle of wine. That's a Saturday night, baby!"

For chicken livers, I'll stick to a woodsy chardonnay next time.

As you may recall, about a year ago, I gave up home use of paper products with the exception of recycled toilet paper. This has been overall a good thing for me. I no longer have that distressing paper towel reflex reach. When I make a mess, I have to think about how I'm going to pick that up. Larry, the little black cat formerly bent on stealing your soul, seldom made messes until the last days of his life, so my house was clean and quiet. Thus, it went on until the arrival of Topaz and Drusy, my adorable, fur-covered mess-making machines.

Yes, I can clean almost as fast as they wreck my place. If I didn't adore them, I might be resentful. Picture this: you and I, we're talking, perhaps having a civilized glass of something fizzy. My apartment is tranquil, I look fairly well put together, all is right with the world and you blink. I'm still talking, but now the furniture's upside down, something's on fire, my hair stands on end and we're both covered with soot. I have kittens. Twice recently, I wondered if I'd given up paper towels in haste. The first: Topaz, who has a very sore tummy sometimes, walked over to me and yakked at my feet on the living room rug. I...got a sponge. The second was a carefully planned campaign of kitty terror initiated the moment my wuzzah wuzzah wuzzah moo moo moo little darlings arrived and found I only offered one litterbox. Until I bought a second enclosed litterbox and placed it next to the first in the bathroom, I found a neat pile of kitten poop in the bathroom every day. As protests go, it was more sanitary than one march on Washington I attended in the eighties. Cleaning up those tidy piles of kitten poop, I wished for paper towels a few times. Yes, indeed. Thank Vishnu I finally wised up and gave the kittens anything they wanted.

Johnny and his Hot Veterinarian Wife are in town to visit the parents. This summer, it will be thirty years since I saw him painting something and fell madly in teenage love, though we became fast friends. His first wife hated me, which meant we couldn't speak for a few painful years. I haven't met this woman, but she has to like me. She just has to. It would be unbearable to lose him again. I'm thinking of bringing to his parents' house a platter of ham, chicken, cheese and shrimp. You know, for the symbolism.