Tuesday, October 28, 2008

Chuck is back

FROM: Expressy@coffeehouse.com
DATE: August 30, 1998
TO: Birthababe@nurserynews.com, BusyBee@BayTee.org, Cafemocha@coffeehouse.com, Cappuccino@coffeehouse.com, Kidsrus@Indyfarm.org, Mamadearest@abc.com, fickle@nanabooboo.org, lungeforth@takealeap.net, warrior1@battlefield.com, ballerina@dancerprancer.org MotherMayI@whynot.com, Suzysunflower@kansasgarden.com
SUBJECT: Chuck is back

Chuck came back with all his stuff today. He took the critters to Wayne’s house but Wayne is moving and couldn’t keep them. That’s why we have Wayne’s dog, remember? I went to the garage today to get something from my car. That’s when I noticed that another aquarium had been smuggled in. I went to inspect the contents and there was that damn alligator and a baby crocodile to boot! Chuck couldn’t find anyone to take them. Duh! No one wants an overgrown lizard with crusher jaws and teeth. I can’t believe this. I said “No alligator!”

“They are just babies,” my son and Chuck explained.

“I don’t care! You were babies once and now look; you’ve grown up and had reptiles!”

I didn’t sign up for this. Why didn’t anyone warn me about teenagers BEFORE I had kids? Warnings should be given in high school Sex Ed classes.

Okay. Let’s take an inventory: one 6-foot python, a dead three-legged dragon, a bucket of live grub worms, one alligator, one crocodile, one blind dog, Wayne’s German shepherd, two aquariums of fish, and a rat in a cage that doesn’t realize he’s on death row. Someone at work today asked me if I wanted a free kitten. I almost slapped her.

A neighbor called the number on Salina’s tag and demanded that Wayne come get his dog. So Wayne called my son, who called me, and asked me to retrieve the dog. Do I look like I work for Animal Control? I told him I was headed to a meeting and that the doggie round up would have to wait.

“But the lady is going to call the dog pound, mom. Please go get Salina”, he pleaded.

I gave in and drove to the lady’s house. The stupid dog refused to get in the truck. Instead she rolled over on her back, turned limp, and lay there like a 50-pound dishrag. I couldn’t pick her up, and I was mad as hell about being late for my meeting. I gave the nice lady my phone number, and called My Son to tell him I was not successful in the rescue effort. I got to my meeting only to find Mr. Codes holding the phone out to me. “It’s for you, Expressy--something about a dog loose in the neighborhood.”

Wayne and my son were out trying to retrieve the runaway, but couldn’t find the lady’s house or the dog. I left the meeting, met the boys at my house, lead them to the lady’s house, and drove off fuming a prayer on my way back to the meeting, “God, this is not funny! That idiot dog poops in my garage, whines and barks at night, breaks off her chain in the daytime, and I get to help bring her back? Excuse me, was this in the contract?”

I’m having a tee shirt printed that reads:

Been there, done that
Gave away my best tee shirt!

The kids cleaned their rooms today. I have dishes in the cabinet that I had forgotten we owned. The cabinet is so full that the doors won’t close. However, Chuck seems to be getting over his lost love. He has a new girlfriend: Wayne’s sister. I hope she doesn’t have any animals she wants to loan us. I have Animal Control on my speed dial in case I get the notion to evict some tenants.

Just call me Wacho woman.

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