Yesterday morning, Ned woke me up at 7:00, just like I told him to and just like he was scared of doing. "Whenever I wake you at 7:00, you always say, 'Let me sleep till 7:20,'" he said.
"That is absolutely untrue." I had my stern hawk look. "I have to be at work at 8:30 (allegedly). I need to be up by 7:00." Then I huffed off to bed. So then when Ned woke me up at 7:00, what do you think happened?
At 7:20 when I got out of bed, I said goodbye to Ned. "I'll see you on Wednesday," I said, and felt sad. On Monday nights I have my student, and then tonight my student and I have a banquet thing to go to, to celebrate the wonder of us, with the literacy program we are a part of. Have I mentioned to you that my student is, like, 47 times smarter than me and knows she totally won the donkey or the Rice-A-Roni? You know on Let's Make a Deal when you pick the wrong door and it's a donkey?
See, the problem with me is, I'd love a donkey. I'd be way exciteder about a donkey than A NEW CAR! Still. My student got the donkey.
"But Wednesday we have Airplane!" said Ned, as if waiting 60 hours to see him would be cushioned by the movie Airplane. Which it kind of did. Still, I was sad.
But then I got to work and saw a huge old Victorian for rent, right across the street from my work. I called the place, and they wondered if I could come see it at noon. I had lunch plans with the Naughty Pro, but I stampeded over to his office and asked him if he wanted to come with me and be my fake husband. Naturally he was down with that. But then it turned out that Ned could look at the place, too, so we all went, like some kind of we-all-sleep-together-even-though-one-of-us-does-not-like-him-the-ladies threesome.
The place wasn't quite right, and seriously, it's like being Goldilocks. I told this to my boss after, and he said, "Yeah, but doesn't Goldilocks end up marrying the baby bear at the end?"
At lunch, we all decided what kind of dog we were. Well, really, I decided what kind of dog Ned and the Naughty Professor were. I have already been told I'm a Cocker spaniel due to my hair and being bad with children. I decided the Naughty Pro was a retired Greyhound. Elegant, used to run around like a crazy man, but now is more laid back.
"Ned, you're a Coon hound." I announced.
"A Coon hound?"
"Absolutely. Southern. Athletic, but then willing to lie around. And your bark is awful." He had to agree that was a good assessment, and then I am sorry to tell you a poon hound joke was thrown around, and let's face it. He's that, too.
When I returned to work, my boss decided he was a Newfoundland, which he totally is, and the poor editor who has to sit with us on copyeditor's row decided he was a chocolate Lab.
What kind of dog do you think you'd be? I so don't want to be a Cocker spaniel, but I know I am. Won't you enjoy my fluffy paw? Get that toddler away from me before I show you my teeth.
After work, I screamed on over to the bibliotheque, and I know you can't get enough of me throwing French words out there. It's part of my Cocker nature. My student and I had a fine time, except we tried to learn science and me teaching science is like Carrot Top leading a How Not to Look Weird seminar.
"How many daughter cells would there be?"
"I don't know. What do YOU think, June?"
"I was thinking 12, too, June."
"Let's look at the back of the book. ... Oh. Six. How the hell did they get six? And if there are all daughter cells, how do they get son cells?"
She is going to be a nuclear physicist by next WEEK, with this science buff leading the way.
The point is, when we were done I walked over to my car, which was parked in front of this kids museum, featuring real wax kids or something. This is the second time in two days I've made some kind of wax joke, and I know you wish I'd stop. Cocker spaniels love wax jokes.
There'a a labyrinth in front of said museum, and because there is something deeply wrong with me, I stopped and did it. Have I ever told you that any time Marvin confronted a labyrinth, he'd just walk across it and sit in the middle? "I SEE the center. Why go to all the trouble when you can just walk over to it?" And right there sums up Marvin's entire problem.
Anyway, when I finished that, I headed to my car, and some white guy was riding his bike toward me. At this particular library--sorry, bibliotheque--it's not packed with your white folk. But there he was, some white kid, and he was coming right at me. I was mildly concerned but got to my car on time, and as I shut the door, I heard, "June. It's me."
It was Ned. I totally didn't recognize him on a bike. Plus I thought the person was, like, 19, and one thing Cocker spaniels are is excellent assessors of situations.
So I ended up seeing Ned twice yesterday when I wasn't even going to see him till Wednesday, and I like Ned.
I wonder what Cocker spaniel/Coon hound puppies would look like?