Laundry, done. Oil change, scheduled. Lawn maintenance guy, phoned. I did everything I said I would last time I was here, except for that pesky work-on-my-book thing. What do you want from me?
The best part of Saturday was when Tallulah and I drove to Winston-Salem together to have her portrait done with the devil camera that stole her soul. She and I took turns driving. Yes, my windshield is cracked. Yes, it costs the same to fix a windshield as it does to get Botox. Why don't you shut the hell up? God.
The photographer was very nice, even when Talu peed on his floor 17 times. "I'm sorry, it's part of the cancer," I told him, and it turns out, you can pull out that cancer card and it works every time. The photographer had any number of techniques for making Lu look at the camera, including squirrel calls and sound effects coming out of his very own lips.
"Wow, is she ever focused on you," he said. "Can you come sit right next to me so she looks this way?"
People have told me that before, that Tallulah follows me around the room with her eyes. I mean, not literally, because that would be creepy. Teensy set of brown eyeballs on legs behind me all the time.
Anyway, one of his techniques was a squeaky tennis ball. "Does she play with balls?" he asked, and I abstained from 7th-grade jokes. But she doesn't, is the thing. Lu plays with stuffed toys and she'll chew the hell out of any animal parts bone you give her, but balls are not her thing. Lu has been a giant lez her whole life, if you ask me. And I'm going to hell for putting her in a pink collar constantly.
He got out the squeaky ball anyway, and guess who effing loved it? Oh my god, she chased that thing, and caught it in the air. She was obsessed. "You'd never know she was sick," said the photographer, and he was right. At that moment, she was perfect. I think she forgot everything hurt.
When we got to the car, the guy was running across the parking lot after us. "This one is brand new," he said, giving Lu a squeaky tennis ball.
We brought it home, and guess.who.is.obsessed.with.squeaky.tennis.ball.oh.my.god.
Edsel's ya-gonna-throw-it? face.
His whole life, he's never been a fetch kind of a dog. Now he is. Lu never played with it, even once, because Mr. Tennis, Alfred Dog Tennyson, was up in it all night. Tennis Hopper. Lucille Ball.
You catch my drift. Now I wonder what sorts of other things Tallulah never gets to enjoy because of Edsel. Like quiet. She never gets to enjoy quiet.
Speaking of quiet, my neighbor Peg came over, and actually she is a mercifully quiet neighbor. She was at the antique store this weekend and saw these blue midcentury modern wine glasses, so she got them for me. Wasn't that nice? When I packed to move back here, I was what you'd call distraught, and I packed badly. I brought only one wine glass with me. Last time Peg was over, I served her in a Mason jar, not that I was standing in a Mason jar, and I think her designer self was appalled.
So, yay. New/old wineglasses. I like everything new/old. I guess I even date midcentury modern men. Damn.
Tallulah once again forgot that she abhors Peg, and was all up in her grille the same way Lily always is for anyone who stops by. "Yessss, she likes being petted, doesn't she?" Peg cooed at Tallulah, also forgetting what Lu is usually like. There were times in the past where I actually worried that Lu might just up and bite Peg, and I've never felt that way at any other time. Now it's like all is forgiven. Whatever unforgivable transgression Peg committed back when Lu was a puppy is now water under the bridge. So. Let's all take a page from Lu's book today.
alternatiff lee, we cud throw ball!!
God help us, everyone.