Any questions?

I took the long way home from school this morning, because the muted sunshine and the fog converged in such an unusual way that it was like driving through the lavender mist in a dream. It’s so strange – all around our house can be sunny Spain, but half a mile away – every single winter’s morning – the road leads us straight onto the Scottish moors. I kind of like the international feel.

~

Yesterday I was depressed, but today I’m not. I posted the poem because, usually, I glean nigh-instant comfort from prayer, but that wasn’t happening yesterday. It wasn’t until early evening that I suddenly realized I wasn’t feeling down anymore. Better late than never. Today I’m a little overwhelmed with the desire to, just, I don’t know - be a girl. A girly girl. I want to go shopping (girly girl), but first I have to check the transmission fluid and the oil (boyz). I ordered heating oil (neutral), but I have to climb under the house to press the reset button on the furnace (boyz). Which reminds me…

Here are a few items I recently filed under “Well, That Explains That” or WTET:

@ It’s important to hand out dog treats in Alpha order, or furry people tend to turn on each other. A couple days ago, I bought meaty chewy boney things for the dogs: one male lab named Ambrose, his sister Willow, and a little female rat dog named Emma. Ambrose got his first, but Willow stole it, and Ambrose, twice the size of Willow, cringed in the corner while she growled over them both. “Geez, Ambrose,” I said, irritated. “Where’re your balls?” It then occurred to me that he’d lost them in a horrible neutering accident last year at the vet’s, which was entirely my doing. WTET.

@ I was in line at Ebenezer’s, listening to the conversation between the lady in front of me, and the checkout gal. There was some question about whether a pair of pants were considered sleepwear, or streetwear. “It says right there on the label, Kathy Lee, so it’s clear they’re streetwear,” the clerk said kindly, obviously employing her own version of WTET.

“But they were in the pajama section.”

“Well, we had a boy in here hanging clothes up for us.” She shook her head as she folded the pants, and put them in a bag. “He didn’t know where things went. He was from the North.”

OHHH, WTET. Now I know why I couldn’t tell the difference, either. I wanted to rise up and say something smarmy, but knew the minute I opened my mouth and those flat, clipped, West Coast syllables hit the atmosphere, I’d be set upon by several, sweet ol’ Daughters of the Confederacy and tarred-and-feathered for a traitor. I just ducked my head, smiled sweetly, and drawled, “Y’all have a good day, y’hear?” before slinking out with my books. Thank God everybody knows where those go, and not one of them was written by Kathy Lee.

@ I opened my spam section last night to find an email from Gabriel. “Well, it’s about time!” I cried, thinking he’d finally come to his senses and was ready to acknowledge my undying love for him, and my daily ten-page letters. Until I noticed the subject line. “UPSET BCOZ OF UR SHORT DICK?” it shouted, and I was forced to conclude that I remain unacknowledged, and unsung, by my dearest celebrity crush.

And no, I’m not upset, so don’t ask me again. (That story didn’t apply in any way to WTET, but I thought it was funny.) (Oh, WTET.)

@ Lastly, this morning, while Jesse was rummaging through Scott’s sock drawer for, well, socks, he asked me, “Why do you have that hanging on the mirror?” He was referring to the couch throw that I’d draped on the mirror last week when I was sanctifying my room. “It’s so I don’t look at myself every twenty seconds when I’m in here trying to be peaceful.” He raised one eyebrow, and gave me a look. “Okay, and because of the little brown-nosed gnome that lives in there. I don’t like him.” Jesse nodded, satisfied. WTET. xo