“Honey I’m home!” Kisses and hugs occur at this time, followed by… “What did you do today?” It is at such moments that I struggle to know what to say.
I believe the common perception is that since I am a college student I sit around in my pajamas sipping tea until noon, and then sometime slightly after the noon hour switch to wine. That is not true. The tea/wine thing mostly occurs every other day. It’s important to keep a schedule or life gets sloppy.
So, how do I explain an average day to my husband? Is it believable? Is it sleep inducing due to the pure lack of excitement? Let’s take today for example…
I wake up early–for me–because I have to drive my car 50 miles to the metro area for servicing. Before doing that I must walk our dog Booker or he gets antsy and bad things happen to good woodwork. As we walk along I notice an extreme amount of squished frogs on the road. Unfortunately, so does Booker, and we stop and examine each and every one. One never knows when one will find perfect, stinky, potential rolling-in, material.
After I get Booker taken care of I go downstairs to my office where I discover Pudgy has left me a dead mouse. It’s a fine specimen of a mouse, meaty and well appointed, but I really don’t like disposing of them. Blah. Lots of paper towels later it disappears down the toilet. Pudgy is super proud and pesters me until she gets extra treats.
Later, as I arrive at the dealership, I’m asked to wait until they determine what’s wrong with my car. Again. I just had my car in for servicing, and twelve days later as we drove it home the “needs repair” light came back on. Arrgh.
Hey, I am a patient person, so I sit and doodle with the iPad until an hour passes. My service guy tells me that they need to order parts and I will be using a loaner car until the parts come in. To my surprise I get a pretty snazzy SUV that I like very much. It’s much too nice a vehicle to drive straight home, so I do a little shopping while in the metro. Retail therapy is salve for the soul and economy, right?
Although it is now September 4, the weather has been extremely hot. Today’s temperatures flirted with the 90s and was annoyingly muggy. My poor potted plants were drooping and pleading for mercy. I got out the hose and began watering. And watering. And watering. Somewhere during this time, as I was standing on our hot driveway, I had the feeling that I was being stared at. You know that feeling. It rather creeps you out and prickles form on your skin.
Turning this way and that I finally looked down towards my feet. About 4 feet away from me was a snapping turtle. As far as snapping turtles go it wasn’t huge… maybe a foot in diameter… but it looked dry, heated, and more than a bit cranky. I turned the hose on it thinking I was doing it a favor, but if turtles are capable of a miffed look, this one had it.
For some reason the turtle desperately wanted to go into our garage. I could see no good outcome from that plan of action, and kept turning it away while avoiding its snapping jaws. Finally realizing that the turtle wasn’t going to give up I found a 5 gallon bucket and a piece of board and herded the by now angry turtle into the bucket.
With a great deal of hissing and snapping (on the turtle’s part, not mine), I carried the bucket down to the creek and released the turtle. Without so much as a thank you or little wave of his clawed foot he leapt into the murky water and disappeared. I went back up to finish watering my plants. Did I say it was really hot?
A cold, ice cube-clinking, glass of iced tea sounded really good, so I went into the house. As I walked through the dining room area I noted that Pudgy had thrown up on the carpeting. That’s what happens when you ask for, and receive, extra treats I guess.
As I got down on my hands and knees and began cleaning up her vomit, Pudgy paced beside me. I read somewhere that you should never let a cat see you cleaning up after him or her. Apparently it gives them the idea that you are their servants. I don’t believe that is the case for Pudgy because as I finished cleaning she began pawing on the carpet… just as she would as if she were in her litter box. I looked at her and said, “That’s okay,” but she seemed pretty embarrassed.
And so my day went. I picked apples. I cleaned up dog Doo Doo. I pulled weeds. I marinated chicken to grill for supper. I got scratched by raspberry brambles.
Later, when my husband came home from work, I schlubbed into the house hot, grimy, and sweaty. He looked at me (I think he was secretly looking for the wine glass and pajama ensemble), and asked how my day had been.
Where to start? Would he be interested in hearing about cat puke and pissy turtles? I thought about how to answer. Finally, with a great deal of love and gentleness, I simply said, “Fine. And yours?”
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