There is something wrong with me. No one knows what it is. The CIA refuses to believe that terrorists are poisoning my food. And the doctors refuse to believe that I am not crazy. But has anyone bothered to test me for cat litter disease? I think not.
I thought toxoplaswhatever was just a great excuse for getting out of changing the litter box for the nine months I was pregnant. But, it turns out that pregnant women are not the only victims. In fact, 1/3 of the world’s population is walking around with this infection RIGHT NOW!
A test of a bunch of Danish women showed that the ones with the infection had a higher risk of suicide attempts than those without the infection. According to the scientists, it is not necessarily causally related.
But, I’m not fooled. Notice that this study consisted entirely of women. The scientists are just trying to cover up the fact that these poor women all married husbands who force them to change the litter box.
Of course, I have not attempted suicide. (Unless you count the time, last week, when I drove on the highway at night without turning my car headlights on. But, that was kind of not really deliberate, so I don’t think that counts. And, let’s not mention that minor incident to Cap’n Firepants, okay?) And, I am not Danish. So, I guess that is why no doctor has recommended this test for me.
Oh, and we don’t have a cat. We used to have a cat, though. Who committed suicide. Okay, not really. But, I am pretty sure that I did get toxoplaswhatchamacallit, and I am, right this moment, suffering from other problems that it causes which the sexist Danish scientists have not yet discovered – such as an inefficient colon and a tendency to acquire mattresses that need immediate disposal.
My point is that I am quite frustrated with the inability, or the complete lack of curiosity, on my doctors’ parts to figure out what is wrong with me. Doesn’t anyone know how to Google besides me?
Although Fredericksburg may not compare to Rodeo Drive in California, it is known for being a Texas Hill Country shopping mecca. After heartily imbibing Grape Creek wine on Saturday, we returned to downtown to be certain we did not miss out on any one-of-a-kind-items-that-must-be-had-at-any-price.
I think Cap’n Firepants and Mr. Globetrotter made it one block before they ditched Mrs. Globetrotter and I for another round at Fredericksburg Brewing Company.
What do they sell in Fredericksburg? These signs will give you an idea.
One place Mrs. Globetrotter and I had to investigate was Dogologie, which, I suppose, fits into the “Everything” category -although it does sell canine couture. That’s where we met the cute pup I featured in Sunday’s post. You can probably guess from the name of the store what type of products are sold there. I was actually shopping for a gift for Mrs. P.I.B. (who turned 11 on April 1st) that would be Wonderbutt-proof. I am hoping it will be another candidate for a P.A.W. Award from Wonderbutt.
It turns out that Dogologie is not the only animal-friendly store in Fredericksburg. Several stores have resident canines.
One even had some newborn kittens.
Our animal encounters were the only part of our weekend get-away that Dimples was sorry she missed (other than seeing our Globetrotter cousins). The Cap’n and I were thankful that Dimples was not present during the kitten sighting. That could have resulted in a major schism in the Firepants family from which we, and the town of Fredericksburg, might not have been able to recover…
Wonderbutt has a new “friend” who has been visiting our back yard. Our daughter, Dimples, loves Sandy, as she has named this stray cat. (2nd only to The Sound of Music is Dimples’ love of Annie.) Wonderbutt’s feelings appear to be a little more acrimonious. I am guessing this because, when he spies Sandy in the yard, he flies at the window, barks vehemently, scratches the windowsill in his frustrated attempts to catch Sandy’s attention, and looks at me with absolute astonishment that I could dare allow such a blatantly rude intruder on our property.
Sandy appears to be unmoved by Wonderbutt’s dramatics. She/He sits in the sun, staring at the house until his/her eyes close, completely oblivious to the fact that a 65 pound bulldog has every intention of making him/her a homicide victim as soon as he figures out a way to break out of his prison.
I am not sure which of these animals is more in need of a Come-Uppance, but it is very tempting to open that window to see what would happen…
(Want to be the next winner of the “I Wonderbutt, Do You?” Award? Be the first to comment with the correct name of the movie this post’s title came from, and which character said it!)
There was a story the other day about some parents who had given their child the ill-fated name of Adolf Hitler. As a teacher, I’ve been party to many urban legend discussions about poor choices for appellations (such as Vaseline – pronounced like Rosalyn, but with a “V” at the beginning).
We have a little more leeway with pet names, fortunately, as dear Wonderbutt can attest to. However, this post should serve as a warning that even pet names should be chosen with some thought to the possibility that you may need to yell that name in public some day:
Example #1 – My sister, affectionately known as Crash, texted me the other day that her dog had disappeared the night before. They searched for awhile, but the dog, who is old, deaf and has very dark fur, was impossible to find that evening.
The next morning, her husband found the dog, thankfully, and she is perfectly fine. Crash had me LOL, though, when she texted me about the incident.
The dog’s name (Crash told me I did not have to use a pseudonym in my blog since that would pretty much ruin the story) is Timber.
Crash’s words in her text, and I quote, “U can only call Timber so much before people think u need to be committed.”
Good point. So, if you live on the East Coast somewhere, and you heard someone walking around yelling, “Timber!” over and over again a couple of nights ago, rest assured that you were not being warned of the imminent collapse of a tree onto your roof. And it wasn’t an escaped mental patient. Although we do fondly question my sister’s mental state sometimes.
Example #2 – My friend, The Dictator, found a cat on the beach when she was on Spring Break during her high school years. The cat was pretty skinny, which is how she explained to her mother the cat’s regrettable name – Boner.
Unfortunately for The Dictator’s mother, Boner was an outside cat who needed to be called in for dinner each night. Luckily, their neighbors were either ignorant of the “street” meaning of the name, or too well-bred to ever mention the incongruity of a middle-aged woman stepping out into her backyard (which bordered a golf course) and yelling, “Boner! Boner!” every night while everyone was trying to eat dinner.
Love my sis. She texted me the other day that I needed to watch Anne Hathaway rapping on Conan. Then she said that she and my niece think I look like Anne Hathaway.
Since my sis recently had a mishap as a result of wrestling with a car my niece backed into a ditch, I figured she might have double-dosed on her pain meds. But I accepted the compliment graciously anyway. I mean, what 42 year old woman in her somewhat right mind wouldn’t want to be compared to the elegant and beautiful Anne Hathaway?
Then I watched the rap. Hmm… Is Crash (sis’ nickname ever since the car wrestling incident) comparing me to rappin’, obscenity spewing Anne or demure, eloquent Anne?
Not that I don’t like both of them. The rap was hysterical and quite clever, and just a little off-color. Well, the off-color part works…
Anyway, so I feel like I should offer a tribute to Crash for all of the ego boosts she has offered me through the years. Here are the top 10 Great Things about My Sis:
- She doesn’t take herself too seriously (hence her self-applied moniker, Crash)
- She always places her kids ahead of herself (which is why she took on a two-ton Jeep at night in a rainstorm)
- Her childhood dream was to grow up and teach cats how to roller skate.
- She abandoned her childhood dream in order to become a full-time mother and part-time medical assistant, both of which are a whole lot harder than teaching cats to roller skate.
- She tells me that I write better than the author of her current favorite book.
- She makes the whole family pose for group pictures whenever we’re together. In every possible permutation. “Now all of the kids,” “now the married couples,” “okay, let’s do the boyfriends and girlfriends.”
- She ignores the family’s insults as we grudgingly get into position for the photos.
- She magically inspires our autistic nephew to grin for a photo in the middle of a potential nuclear meltdown.
- She’s forty, but she looks like she is in her twenties. (Actually, I really don’t like that about her, since that genetic abnormality seems to have skipped right over me.)
- She thrives on a diet of potato chips and cookies because she loves animals too much to eat them. Plus, she thinks raw meat looks gross.
There are a lot more great things I could say about my sis, but that would, of course, no longer be a Top 10 List. So, that’s my tribute to one of the kindest, funniest people I know – the one person who I am completely confident could teach a cat to roller skate once she set her mind to it.