"Have you fed and watered the cluck-clucks yet?" I mumbled, pulling my shirt over my crazy mass of red curls.
"Nope," J said whooshing by me with his backpack to grab his books in the room we affectionately call "the library," which is really our dining room, which is next to the kitchen.
"POOP. We're out of coffee filters," I hollered after him.
"Ugh," J groaned, letting his bag fall with a clunk onto the table.
"Ok, so you'll take care of them and I'll meet you out front to ride together to grab coffee?" I offered.
"Sure. Sounds good," he said brightening as he pulled on a hat to head outside. I grabbed my shoes and my coat and headed toward our front door, remembering as I unlocked it that I'd forgotten my mug. Turning on my heel I tripped over Obie who promptly growled his angst over breakfast...
He hadn't had any yet.
Sighing to myself, I reminded him what a lucky kitty he was to have meal service so early, and quickly snapped back a cat-food can lid and fed the two monsters weaving my feet, barking at them to, "SIT," which they promptly did because they were starving, since it had been a whole night since dinner.
Yes, our cats can sit. We actually call them dats, because since they like dog-type activities; belly rubs, sitting, fetch, we think they have earned their "d."
That done, I grabbed my mug and jogged out of the kitchen. As I strode outside, the front door banging behind me, I was suddenly struck by the last dream I recalled having during the night. It had woken me up this morning at 4:04 AM in a luke-warm sweat. Shivering to myself, I foggily remembered the details.
Last night I had a dream about wasps. A whole hive of them. Chasing me from inside my parent's house. I had to grab a pink comforter (I don't know why it was pink) and RUN THROUGH the mass of angry winged insects with their floating, creepy, dangly legs and out the front door, up the driveway and onto the dirt road into the dark of the night.
Now, I have respect for all the creatures of the universe, but it is also my opinion that something that can sting you repeatedly, with malice, venom and fervor is an insect to be avoided. Add on top of that the epi-pen I have to carry around with me, and well..... it wasn't a dream but a nightmare, seeing as how one tiny wasp sting can kill me.
I have no idea what this dream is supposed to mean. I admit that I have a healthy respect and fear of yellow and black striped or designed insects with long abdomens ending in wicked protrusions, antennae curled heads and the aforementioned terrifying, slow-motion dangling, swaying legs, but it's WINTER. All the wasps are hibernating or dead. Sigh....
Proof again that my dreams are often crazy (this one was actually tame... I've dreamt a lot of zombies, morphing shadow people, being shot to save other people, parallel universes....) and if I needed reassurance that the yellow jacket, hornet and wasp species were all lethargic and frozen, I GOT it when I ventured out the front door.
HOLY MOLY it was COLD this morning! As in, 15 whole degrees. I thought I'd moved OUT of New England.... After what seemed a mini-eternity (I'm sure it was all of 5 minutes) J pulled up and we went to get coffee.
Why it's so goshdarn difficult for people around here to make a good cup of joe, I don't understand. Most places can pull an espresso shot that tastes BETTER (even if it's too slow and a bitter draw) than their brewed coffee, which almost always tastes burnt, watery or sour, no matter how early one arrives to get the "A Team," baristas. Well, whatever Trevor. I'm resigned and used to it, and I only order dirty chai or espressos from coffeeshops.
After receiving our drinks, J grabbed me for a quick smooch and a "Have a good day," as he rushed back out to the car to head to work. He works weekends and the buses don't run promptly or often, so he commutes. I gave him a quick squeeze in return, and steeled myself for the two and a half block frigid walk home, clutching my mug for warmth.
I greeted Radio Guy #1 as I trudged up the sidewalk, and he responded with a grin.
"It's goddamn cold this morning," I said, my breath forming little crystallized clouds as I spoke. He laughed and reminded me that I could come over and record the Public Service Announcements if I liked. Which I did.
So I got to spend the morning at the microphone, something that NEVER gets old and is ALWAYS fun, even if you're a perfectionist like me and don't often like the sound of your voice in the playback. I got to hear myself as a chipmunk, a drunk, someone on speed, and what I might sound like if I were a dude. Let me just say, we had a BLAST!
Jake the amazing golden, by the way, is doing much better and his chipper self again. I know because he felt up to bringing me his ball, not for me to throw of course, but to rest his head on my thigh with his tennis ball in my crotch to say if I decided I would be amicable to throwing said ball, he might be okay with that if I was okay with a small game of tug of war to gain the privilege.
I think now I'm going to do what I planned on this morning: clean the house with dust mite spray, decide what to cook for supper, pick up some recycled paper coffee filters and maybe bake another cake. The cake I bake today, shall maybe have a little brandy in it, because if it's going to be 15 friggin' degrees out, I want something with a little nip to take away the chill for J when he gets home.