Good afternoon Darling Ones,
I googled “when is evening” and “when is afternoon” to make sure I was using the right one. I learned evening starts after six and afternoon is noon to six. For the record, it is currently 5:23 p.m. Thursday, April 1, in sunny Shakopee, MN, day 385 of the pandemic.
Did you miss me? I didn’t intend to take a small break but I’ve been busy. I had to get groceries, zoom with the tea ladies, send funny texts and tweets about hockey, watch hockey, welcome Lawrence & Roger (the inaugural members of Sadness Garden II: Bleakness Boogaloo), buy some garbage I don’t need to celebrate getting my first assignment for a new client, start & finish that assignment, oh, and compulsively read The Final Revival of Opal & Nev by Dawnie Walton which I’m loving so much it’s giving me heart-eyes and hard nipples. . . can’t lose? I think that’s how it goes.
That’s busy for a woman who never leaves the house and cannot find a vaccination appointment to save her life. I’ve joked for so long about being the last in line for the vaccine the Gods are smiting me by making it true. Having been last picked for everything my entire life, you’d think I’d be a little more chill about this. I am not. My vaccine anxiety is convoluted and ridiculous. I feel like the only person on the planet who hasn’t gotten it yet and it makes me feel ashamed. Like I’m not doing enough to get the shot and maybe I’m not. But I’m not driving janky, 22-year-old Ruby 100+ miles to get the vaccine. Maybe I should be ashamed. I don’t know.
I didn’t even come here to tell you all that. I came here to talk about The Odd Couple and my furry orange vengeance demon, Wendell.
There’s a special relationship between a spinster and the only creature she allows to inhabit her abode. And by special I mean cringingly embarrassing, frequently annoying, and some how super awesome at the same time. To be perfectly frank, Wendell and I are frequently dicks to each other. He really loves to open all the cupboard doors and play fetch at 4 a.m. I like to sing, French vanilla, rocky road, chocolate, peanut butter, cookie dough. Boop, there it is, while booping him on the nose.
I sing to him a lot. All the time. Every day and night. Sometimes I sing Jodi Chromey Originals that include “Cutie with a Big Booty,” “You’re a Cat (Not a Vengeance Demon),” and “Belly Rub Agenda.” Sometimes I sing him whatever I’m listening to. Sometimes it’s whatever is stuck in my head. There is a lot of singing at Supergenius HQ. As you can see, if you look at the image above, sometimes we hold paws while I sing to him.
We have a pretty good relationship for an Odd Couple. Wendell is the Felix and I am the Oscar, and not just because I’m a sloppy, cranky writer, but because he’s a fastidious little bastard who will try to bury my stuff under a blanket. For real, if I don’t throw away a Pop Tart wrapper right away or put away my dishes, Wendell will try to bury them. Rude. Adorable, but rude.
This one’s ending abruptly because I’m fucking starving and need to go make some dinner,
P.S. Please make sure you gaze upon my epic silvery mullet. It’s flowy and wondrous and I just got some blue-tinted shampoo to see if it will change colors.