Monday, February 9, 2009

A Little of This...

Another beautiful (read: spring-like) day in the northeast….and my 2 ½” thick block of ice (formerly known as my driveway) is down to 2 ¼”! WOOHOO. We’re getting there.

In other news, upon receiving the “Nastiest Cold of the Year, Thus Far” award earlier this month, I received quite the assortment of consolation prizes. Thanks to all who decided to provide me with the ammunition to slay the next rhinovirus-dragon….as it were. Or was.

“Kathryn…did you get any sleep last night?” inquires my ever-concerned, ever-slightly-germ phobic I.V. , Sir Clinton Kelly.

Kathryn: “You know the answer to this. Why don’t you share with our readers the paltry, insignificant, meaningless amount of quote, unquote sleep I got last night.”

C: “I don’t think you’re supposed to type ‘quote, unquote’….....you know what? Never mind. I would say that you got roughly 56 minutes of sleep last night.”

K: “Give or take. Yes, that sounds about right.”

C: “Were you worried about something?”

K: “Nope.”

C: “Were you hot? Or cold?”

K: “Yes….and yes. That simply added to my discomfort.”

C: “Hmmm. What were you thinking about?”

K: “EVERYTHING. And nothing. I mentally composed e-mails, rehearsed conversations, returned phone calls…you name it. I even remembered to do poop patrol.”

C: “No wonder you’re tired….you worked all night. Now, if only you could remember to actually participate in picking up the pedigree’s poops.”

K: “Uh-huh. You’re very funny, Mr. Funnyman. How much sleep did YOU get last night?”

C: “Um. Since I was in your head…not nearly enough. Thanks so much for that in-depth conversation about chicken, by the way. What is it with you and chicken?”

K: “I do not know. I think it stems from the childhood trauma of my mother not cooking the chicken all the way through…did I mention this? We’d bite into a leg…and there’d be blood…really gross.”

C: “Are you serious? Did you happen to mention to her that she may be undercooking it?”

K: “Nope. I don’t think anyone said a word…we were way too polite to knock da cook. Did I tell you that I started making Connor (12) chicken pitas at home? I cut the chicken into strips and brown it up with a little oil in a pan.”

C: “Wow. I’m impressed. This is huge…for you. Does he like them?”

K: “Evidently not. He finally confessed to me today that my chicken tastes ‘like nothing.’ He said ‘It’s like eating air…only you’re chewing.’ That’s an exact quote. See? I can’t even cook chicken strips without screwing it up. What am I doing wrong?”

C: “How much time have you got? But hey…at least the circle of politeness is continuing…”

K: “Very funny. Did I tell you that I think there’s a mouse in the wall in between the master and the master bath? It sounded like it was gonna gnaw its way right through the drywall.”

C: “Gross. You're all over the place, you know. Sleep-deprivation 101.”

K: “Uh-huh. I repeatedly banged on the wall, which stopped him from gnawing for about ten seconds. I felt like Jodi Foster in that movie where she’s trapped in the room, trying to get away from the crazed lunatic? I was just waiting to see those sharp rodent teeth break through the wall….(shivers) In the end, I went into the garage and brought up three (count ‘em…three) of those rodent-repeller thingies that plug into the wall? Every receptacle now has one….if the *click….click* sound doesn’t drive me batty, maybe it’ll chase away little gnawing-Mickey there.”

C: “Well, c’mon. I could use a big ‘ole drink. I hear the ’08 Cloudy has been released…”

K: “You always know how to make me feel better.”

(Overheard as they’re walking away “Will you check the traps for me later?” Clinton responds with “There’s not a big enough drink for that.”)

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