The humble beginnings…
…of a really good glass of wine. (or for that matter, a really bad glass of wine….)
It all begins here:
(click for bigger view)
This weekend The Good Man took me up to wine country for birfday celebratory fun. And some tasty wine!
Photo by Karen Fayeth
That’s improbable!
While getting ready for work this morning, The Feline was busting my chops. She likes to do this, especially when I’m tired and groggy at oh-dark-thirty in the morning.
Sometimes I humor the animal (or, er, myself) and have a “conversation.” It goes something like this:
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Feline: Meow!
Me: What’s that you say?
Feline: Meow!
Me: Constantinople? Really?
Feline: Meeeow!
Me: Met at the bazaar? You know, they don’t even call it Constantinople any more. You’re so old fashioned.
Feline: Meow!
_______________
That is but one example.
So this morning, The Feline and I engaged in another of our lengthy conversations. Here’s the rough transcript:
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Feline: MEOW!
Me: Had a bad dream, huh? Sorry to hear it.
Feline: Meow
Me: Maybe you should try cutting the kibble ration and sleeping less?
Feline: Meow!
Me: That’s interesting. You know they say a dream about eating fish means many conflicting things. Could be attachment issues.
Feline: Meow!
_______________
It was then that I thought to myself, “Hey, I could do that whole Pet Psychic routine. This is easy!”
Why did my brain drift over to “Pet Psychic?”
I’ll tell you why.
Recently, I pitched a literary agent about my latest work. Last week, I got feedback from the agent. He said (in not so many words) that a main plot point of my story wasn’t entirely plausible.
I found that odd, since that plot point was something that had actually happened in my life (“write what you know!”).
But ok, I took his very professional feedback to heart (maybe too much to heart, if you were to ask The Good Man).
With that in mind, I went to the library to check out items in the “new fiction” section to see what IS plausible enough to get published these days.
That’s where I found this gem.
“Pet psychic, radio host, four-time widow, and dedicated rescuer of distressed animals, Mary Catherine rushes in to help a turtle stranded in a house, only to stumble over a body. With the rescued turtle as the only witness, MC works with the initially skeptical police to discover the real murderer.”
Unh huh. So a pet psychic getting the eyewitness account from a turtle IS plausible enough to be published?
Ooookaaay.
And the clincher from the book jacket:
“Includes recipes for pet treats!”
Well there you have it.
The Feline remains non-plussed.
That’s how you know…
At dinner Friday night with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.
We discussed my birthday lament.
She looked me dead in the eye and said, “You do not *even* look forty!”
Whether true or a total lie, that’s how you know you have a friend who is a keeper.
Another one for the ladies
Look away, boys. No, I’m serious. You want no part of this.
Ladies, I just gotta ask.
How come it is, when I go for my regularly scheduled lady version of the lube-oil-and-filter-change, like a good woman should to care for her female health….
At the end of the session in which I’ve been unspeakably violated by a stranger…
Why is THIS all I get to clean up?
One sad towelette? One? That is not enough to clean up from a deep bbq’d rib dinner much less from the event for which it has been offered…….
And, as a special birthday present from my doctor and my HMO, to celebrate this milestone birthday, *I* get the pleasure of having my boobs dragged across the room then squished between two xray plates.
Gosh, this being forty is fun!
*snarf!*