Friday, November 24, 2006

Do I know you?

Why do people and animals keep giving me that look? I am sitting here working away at an impossible deadline, and Ruby strolls right across the coffee table. Pardon me? When did we decide it was okay to treat the coffee table as a fashion runway? GIT DOWN! And for my troubles, I get a look. That "have we met?" look. Sometimes when I call her name, she looks around all suspiciously like she thinks God is talking to her, because obviously she has no clue that just because the sound is coming from MY mouth that it must be me that is talking. DD gives me the same exact clueless look sometimes and boy, does that push my buttons. Don't look at me like that, I asked you how you got covered in paint and why is the cat so sparkly. Seeing as your hands are glittery, I am pretty sure you know something about it. We have met. I am your mother. And somebody is in TROUBLE. Dh gives me the look as well, usually when I bring up a subject that I have told him a thousand times about and he was just not listening, then all surprised to hear about it. Last night is a prime example. DD was not feeling well and came home from school. Her sinuses are giving her trouble and were dripping into her throat, causing a sore throat and an upset tummy. After some soup, a rest, and some good medication she was none the worse for wear and we decided she could attend her Brownie Entrollment ceremony. As I was getting changed, Dh started talking about what he was going to do while DD was at Brownies, and was a bit confused about why I was changing my shirt, after all I don't need to take my coat off. "Hon, you do know we are supposed to stay, right?". There goes that look again. He said nobody told him there was anything special tonight (we discussed it all through dinner, but granted the tv was on so I should have known the only person listening to me was myself). Not to mention he was the one that got the invitation paper from Brown Owl last week, and she explained everything at that time. I heard it from a few feet away as I helped DD with her coat. I am going to make DH a shirt that says "Don't talk to me. I will smile and nod but I am not really listening. If it is important, please tell my WIFE". Then I can sell them on the internet, and I think I would be rich. This morning, I walked into the kitchen to find both cats up on the table, staring down at the floor in a horrified manner. They were watching a baby centipede frantically running in circles, trapped by DD's hairband. Now, I am not sure how that little scene originally unfolded, but it illustrates and important thing about the cats in this house. They are terrified of centipedes. They will WATCH them, from a distance, with terror in their eyes. But touch one? No freakin' way. They were in quite a state, jumpy, scared to death. The word "skittish" in the dictionary would probably have a picture of them, on that table. Imagine the nerve of me, walking into the kitchen all sudden like. They didn't run like their lives depended on it (their usual modus opperendi), or jump straight into the air and puff up (my personal favourite). They turned and looked at me, frozen stone still, eyes wide open in abject terror at the sight of me. Look, I know I am no picnic in the morning. But I ain't THAT ugly. As far as they were concerned though, I was Medusa. Two stone statues staring at me as if to say "WHO ARE YOU?". A stranger in my own land, indeed.

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