Most nights, before I actually go to sleep, I get into bed and read awhile. Sometimes I look at my phone, which I’m certain is excellent for my circadian rhythms.
Edsel always accompanies me, but he accompanies me anywhere. I just heard him sit down with a flump behind me, in fact. I barely notice him following me anymore. What I notice is his rare absence. “Where the heck’s Edsel?” I’ll think, and it’s always because I let him outside and forgot, or there’s a kitten distracting him.
Anyway, last night I clamored into bed and Eds hopped up, too. At some point I vaguely noticed Milhous jump up and curl next to me. I don’t let the cats sleep with me all night because there are too damn many of them and you will get no sleep with all of them all over yonder in the bed.
So when it was time to actually fall asleep, I leaned over to kind of pet Milhous to let him know to get up because I was closing the doors (my bedroom has two doors. I can’t imagine the feng shui I’ve got going on with that).
I BARELY touched Mil when he SPRANG up, like a cobra, SPRANG up, fur on edge like a Halloween kitty, and LEAPED SIDEWAYS, claws out, claw’s out, maw’s out, RIGHT ONTO EDSEL, and then leaped off the bed, fur still up, tail huge.
Eds didn’t even have time to squeal like a chick, which I knew he wanted to do. That cat sank his claws right into Eds.
He looked at me, wide-eyed. What the psycho hell?
So I guess I startled Milhous.
Is my point. Also, cat has reflexes. Good gravy.
My other news is, they called me at the car-repair place yesterday, at about 11:15. “Your car’s almost ready,” they said, a mere two months later. “We just have to detail it. It’ll be ready tonight or tomorrow.”
Two hours later I get a call from the insurance company. “You have till 6:00 today to return the rental car.”
What the…? “My car’s not even READY yet,” I said, but yes it was, according to them. So I had to leave work in the middle of the day, drive all the damn-ass way across town like TWO INCHES from Ned’s work, which made me tense, not that he works at Public Storage, which is what the above picture shows.
Anyway, then I had to wait in line behind World’s Fussiest Customer who had a baby carrier that was empty. Where was her baby? Did she just make up having one?
They told her to go ahead and pick her car, and by the way, she got the choice of an SUV and why didn’t I get an SUV? I had a short squatty Mustang for exactly two months, a Mustang I came to really like, actually. Still. What gives?
The man behind the counter took a phone call, and old Phantom Baby Carrier, there, was SUPPOSED to be out picking her car but instead she stood there holding her invisible baby in its carrier. Maybe her work had done one of those “pretend you have a baby so you can see what it’s like” exercises.
I was already annoyed with her, because it was MY TURN and she was indifferent to my plight and clearly had ONE MORE GODDAMN QUESTION after the guy’s phone call (someone had left their garage-door opener in the rental car. Did the guy see it? Could he look again?) (“Yes, ma’am, I’ll look again.”) And in the meantime, I was fixing to bludgeon old “my skirt is too short for my age” up there with her own fake baby carrier.
And why do we need them? The rest of us rode in the car sliding across the back seat and look at us. We’re fine. When I was in first grade the whole lot of us used to ride home from school in Janet Swender’s dad’s pickup truck, exposed to the breeze, and we lived through that, too.
Anyway after 97 thousand hundred minutes it was my turn.
“Yes, I’m returning my rental car? And I need a ride to the body shop?”
They checked out the auto first, and I got inexplicably nervous. All I ever did was go to work and come home in that thing, and I sat there sweating like they’d figure out I had hash parties up in there. I have no idea if hash parties are even a thing but now I want hash browns.
After I passed, after I pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes with my hash pipe and my tens of prostitutes I had riding in that thing on the regular, they said, “Someone will drive you to your body shop” and out from the back, as part of the June’s Fantasy Model collection, came a young man of color.
Mother of pearl.
Oh, and he was nice to me. He was so smart, and we talked cars and life and generations and by the time we got to my car repair shop I was ready to ask him back to my rental for some hashish.
Are hash and hashish the same thing? Or are they slightly different, like vanilla and French vanilla?
Anyway now I have to find a way to marry the 23-year-old car rental dude and I think that’s a perfectly legit thing to aim for. Any MAN my age would feel completely entitled to a 23-year-old.
Anyway, my little blue roller skate of a car is back. And I’m tryina decide if I want to try to trade it in for a big safe Subaru from 2015 or something. I sure do love this cute car.
Oh! And it was two months ago yesterday that I got in that accident, and I had to drive down THE SAME ROAD at the SAME TIME OF DAY but I did it. I was nervous as a pee hen, but I did it.
Also I left my baby-blue cardigan in the car and I hadn’t noticed it was gone for two months.
All right, I gotta go. I’m running late and my computer is telling me my mouse is low and I don’t know why it can’t just embrace life and count its blessings.