Right after we last spoke, nigh on 24 hours ago, I got up from this very desk and took a shower. Because, you know, sanitary. As long as you don't think too much about how many animal germs are in this house.
LOTee resent. O, wate. Lot haff to poop in hall.
So I got out the shower, put on the cowboy robe Marvin left here when he moved out in 2011--and it was already old then--and left the bathroom.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Right then, my damn smoke alarm went off. Then the next one did, and the next one, and so on, till everyone was shampooing with Faberge Organics.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Goddammit.
Lottie had never heard the smoke alarm before, and she flattened herself to the ground like she was in Vietnam. "It's okay, Lottie," I said, through the din. I picked her up and ushered the dogs outside. I mean, Edsel has a lot in the way of ears. You can imagine how loud it must have been for him.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
Goddammit.
Eventually, I called the fire department, because it'd stop for 30 seconds, then
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
it'd go off again. This time I knew I didn't have a stay-off-the-couch pad that was causing all the trouble, so I called 911. Who must be sick of me.
"911. Hey, June. What's your emergency NOW?" the woman practically asked. I just called them the other day, and I can't even think of why now, but it was one of my "this isn't actually an emergency, but I never know where to call when it isn't one" kinds of calls. I really can't remember why I called, now. I know I was trying to lure a shaggy little lost dog into my car on Sunday. Was that it? No. I tried Animal Control for that one. (No one was home, and the little dog wouldn't stop barking at me, so I gave up.)
Anyway, I told her what was happening, and she asked some questions such as, "Do you see flames?" and I told her I was, in fact, staring into the gaybors' yard and we had a good chuckle.
"Have you meet anyone new yet?" she asked, and we gabbed while other emergencies went unattended.
And while I hadn't seen flames, the fact that the smoke alarm would not stop going off did...alarm me, so I stayed outside with my many pets. The cats had fled on their own, out the screen door, from the first Eee. "I wonder if I should rush in there and take anything," I thought, tying my sexy cowboy robe tighter. I'd always said, when I played the "What would you take if there were a fire" game, that I'd rescue the Norma and Vern photo album. I toyed with that, but those pictures are way at the back of the house, and what if I were engulfed in flames on the way?
The truck pulled up, then, anyway...
...and right then I knew. I was wearing no makeup, with a cowboy robe from 2001 on, and for my grand finale, wet hair.
TAAA-DAAAAAAA! My fireman orgy fantasy. Almost complete.
"Hulloooo," I coooed, trying to be cute anyway. I'm 50 and makeupless! Fly me!
And the thing is, I could TELL they were cute, all four of them. Large and manly and cute, but I COULDN'T ACTUALLY SEE THEM, because no contacts. My eyes had a restraining order. No contact.
Goddammit. It was like a nightmare.
As they strode tall-y into my house, I realized all the things that were in there that hadn't caught on fire and saved me from embarrassment. The safe-from-puppies flip-flops on the coffee table. My strapless bra strewn across the dining room table. I'd come in from a night out and ripped that motherfucker off and threw it as soon as I could.
My leopard underwear on the bathroom floor, because I'd just taken a shower. And here's to you, Messy Robinson.
I explained to them as best I could what had happened with my alarm while I did a panicked sweep at the same time. "It just keeps going off," I said, shoving a strapless bra in my cowboy pocket. What I really wanted to say is, I can be so much cuter than this. So much cuter. And if I could focus on any one of you and look for rings and age-appropriateness, I'd be directing my considerable charms your way. But no. YOU'RE JUST FOUR HOT BLURS.
They decided one of my smoke alarms was malfunctioning, causing the others to go off. "You really have a lot of smoke detectors," one of them said, and when a FIREMAN tells you that, perhaps you've gone overboard, MARVIN.
"Are these your parents?" one of them asked as he perused my bookshelf, which probably has books on it like How To Not Seem Crazy in Front of Firemen and the like. "Let me see. I have lots of pictures of people I don't know," I said, failing Rule Number One. "Oh, those are my grandparents. (How old did he think I WAS?) Wasn't my grandfather handsome?"
I always say that, and he was, but my grandmother was cute as a button, too. Why can't I ever throw her a bone?
And for all I know, that nice fireman was 52 and just waiting for a multi-petted woman to take for his bride. But I COULD NOT SEE HIM so I'll never know. They were all so big, and so...present in my little cottage, that I'd have had to make quite a fuss to say, "Hey, can I get past y'all so I can put on my glasses and save up your cuteness for later?"
In the meantime, the dogs were outside, and Edsel was
BESIDE
himself. Oh, he scratched, and he barked, and he whined, and he could totally see they were cute, and he put on some music and did his sexiest grind dance, but we were too busy dismantling my bad alarm to care.
What I'm saying to you is neither Edsel or I got lucky, unless you include not burning to death in a fire "lucky."
After they were gone, I had to scream to work, as I had a meeting first thing, and I was pretty much in meetings all day long, and by the end of the day I was what you might call drained. Then I had to take my laptop home and keep working.
we drayned.
But at least we're flame-free.
