ode to the doorknob

it’s a really good thing i’m no one’s mother. i have zoey, and that’s as close as i want to get, considering she’s only two years old and we’re both clear on the idea that she’s top dog.

i know! she’s totally spoiled. recently, i confused “spoiled” with “more mature” and now have some home repairs to take care of.

it started during the crush of visitors this summer that was apparently so exciting zoey decided to be afraid of the guest room and forget that she was crate trained. after a bit of shoving, pointing, and whining (all on my part), she spent most of july with free reign of the kitchen/dining room area.

this was fine until the refrigerator became terrifying. i can’t even see if there’s anything to eat (and there never is) without her fleeing upstairs; and i admit, that was kinda funny until last week.

• wednesday: destroyed the blind on the door
• thursday: serious scratch marks and a hole (a hole!) in the doorknob
• friday: the nubbin thing that locks the door? she ate it.
• the weekend: wrapped the knob in foil to dissuade her. she shredded it.
• monday: she puked up the nubbin thing ... gross.

so, the crate is reassembled and after a couple wrestling matches, i’m back to having the impression of being in power … until val and shawn come for the weekend and i end up having to buy another doorknob.

harmony restored

you can't blame moses ... after all, he's only human. and as anyone can attest, one of the defining qualities of a human is an absolute lack of patience. had he not been in such a hurry to get the first 10 down the hill, we'd have, in my estimation, at least seven more commandments to enforce. since they didn't come with him, they can't officially be called "commandments" and are more like guidelines for living:

• thou shalt not leave unwashed dishes in the sink for more than three days (in a row).
• thou shalt change the radio station immediately upon the realization that it's a sugar ray song.
• thou shalt never drive a car smaller than thy daughter's car, lest thou livest the rest of thy life in complete embarrassment.

they get more complex from here, but I kind of like the third one. i've always driven small cars. other words for “small” in this case include: timeworn, unstable, leaky, and dreadful. granted, the Civic was an excellent car until it hit 128,000 miles and had a change of heart.

mom has always driven the biggest car in our family. before it was a 4Runner, it was a pick-up ... and before that i think it was the station wagon ... and before that, i don't know, she had a Camaro that she drove to meet cops.

anyway! after the last 4Runner came the slightly smaller RAV4, which she kept for only a few months after my Civic's personality crisis. why? i replaced it with an Escape. it threw everything out of alignment. we might both have been washing our roofs while standing on a milk crate, but i was tiptoe ... and taking up more space in the driveway ... with bigger wheels ... using more water. the indignity!

maybe 19 seconds after the cars dried, she decided she needed to own an Escape; as long as she didn't get a yellow one, we'd be mostly even, and that was good enough for both of us.

she immediately bought an Explorer.

the moral: mom's a tricky one ... you have to keep an eye on her. but at least she follows the guidelines. by the way, here's another one:

• thou might as well buy it now since, no matter how much you hate the idea, you're probably going to end up driving an automatic ford someday anyway.

overheard

"from now on, trailer park residents will have no representation."

spa day

it started with a healthy IHOP breakfast and ended covered in lotion, wearing little pink flip flops. yesterday was the big day that debi and i had been planning for a year, and it ended up being nearly all we’d dreamed … maybe i just wasn’t expecting so much blood. here’s the breakdown:

the facial: i thought the worst part would be the insecurity of a stranger examining my pores at a thousand times their normal size, but i was wrong. it was the steam. to drown on the heated bed in a tiny, cold room while being exfoliated would be bad; somehow, i beat the odds, tuned out the aaron neville music and relaxed. debi also seemed to enjoy her experience with the exception of the “extraction” process and something to do with unpleasant shoulder popping.

the massage: wow … i wish i was still there. debi wishes she’d gotten my masseuse … she apparently spent the hour with johnny elbows.

the pedicure: with the massage chairs (only debi’s actually worked … luck was on her side this time), the foot whirlpool, the bubbles, and the leg clay, this was fantastic … until my appointed nail tech took out the pointy stick used to push back cuticles; and so, the bleeding began. [note: the fun whirlpool produces only nasty stinging when you have open wounds.]

the manicure: debi lucked out again … i got the same nail tech. what face was i making the moment before she asked me if i was ok … the third time? what about when she said “i nicked you” again? yeah, that’s fun.

so next year spa day is in NY and we’re thinking of trading manicures for body wraps. i don’t exactly know what that involves, but i’m taking the neosporin just in case.