It's Sunday morning, although technically it's five to 12:00, so "morning" is pushing it. Ned warned me days ago that he is playing golf with his dad today, and that he'd have to be there by 12:30, and my first thought was, "Darn," but to tell you the truth then I kind of started looking forward to an afternoon to myself. I mean, don't get me wrong, I like Ned and all. But I have to write something for work today anyway, and the idea of a quiet afternoon yawning before me was sounding more and more wonderful.
Now Ned is saying he's leaving at a different time, and is bounding loudly about the house getting golf-related things such as--oh, hell, I don't even know what golf things you'd get. But he was looking for a hat, and he had this little cart he dragged out, and he keeps shouting from other rooms, "Where are you? What are you doing?" and I keep hoping for my yawning afternoon and it keeps not happening. So I'm hiding up here talking to you.
NedKitty is in here with me, sleeping on top of the laundry hamper, which seems to be her new spot. The sun shines in here on her old bones and I think she likes that.
Now that NedKitty sticks her head under the shower twice a day--or more, if we shower more--she has a permanent brown spot on her head. I have no idea why it's brown. Or why it comes out when she gets her head wet.
Anyway, Tallulah is also here, sleeping under my chair. She and Edsel were smelling so terrible that we took them in the back yard and hosed them off and shampooed them yesterday. We've always washed them in the tub before, but it gets clogged, and they didn't seem to mind the hose one iota. The water didn't get very cold, and they'd just come back from a long, hot walk as it is.
It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again. I feel like my dogs would be all, okaaa. we not mind hoze. screw you loshun, weerd murdur man.
Lotta petspeak in this one.
Now Ned is up here sighing pointedly and moving stuff around, which means he wishes for me to ask what's wrong so I can assist him with something. Oh, quiet afternoon, how I was longing for you.
Longing for youuuuuu.
Other than writing that article for work, I thought I'd think of some Purple Clover ideas. Anyone have any? And don't say, "June, write an article about that time you lost Tallulah!" These people don't know me, and if you read the comments they don't like me, either. I seem to incite more hateful comments than anyone else who write there. I think it's because most people are very literal and do not know from sarcasm.
Do you think if you read me it means you're funnier than the average person? I do. I think in general my readers have a sense of humor. You have to, just to tolerate this hair. Just this morning, I was lying on Ned and I felt him push my hair down, out of his way. "Am I puffing on you?" I asked. "You're always puffing on me," said Ned. "You're like a puffin."
I am. I am a puffin. And not everyone likes a puffin.
Okay, Ned has just announced he's leaving, and I can start my alone time. First, Ima read the Sunday Times and eat my leftover shepherd's pie. Then Ima wonder why the stubborn pounds. Then, I will write my article. Lemme know your Purple Clover ideas, will you? What's been on your mind, if you're a person older than 50? Tell me everything.
I'll talk to you tomorrow.
Joooon, who's alone again, naturally