7 a.m.: Hubby leaves for work after rattling the dog leashes, rustling his lunch bag I left for him in the fridge and clomping around in the noisiest Sketcher shoes known to mankind. They have rubber soles! How can they be so loud?
8 a.m.: The phone rings and I stumble out of bed, rousing the sleeping dogs. James' tail wags so hard he knocks over my nighttime glass of water, sending a wave onto the floor. In my haze, I think, "Answer the phone? Clean the water off the floor?" and manage to make it to the phone in time to hear the caller slam the phone down in my ear. I grab paper towels and head for the carpet.
8:12 a.m.: The dogs whine at me as I attempt to put my sneakers on the correct feet and follow me around as I pull on a dirty polo shirt and finger comb my hair back into a ponytail. Huge sunglasses are my savior in the morning.
8:45 a.m.: James sees his archenemy, a 12 pound Toto-looking terrier named Mutt, on our walk and attempts to "retrieve" him for me. I neither want nor need a limp, crushed terrier at my feet, so I do my one-arm workout which I call "The James Maneuver"--pull like hell and hope the collar doesn't break.
9 a.m.: Back at home to feed and water all animals (dogs, lizard, and wild critters...presumably birds, but the fattest chipmunks in the county eat everything I put out, leaving the birds to starve and/or point out what fatasses the chipmunks are.)
9:15 a.m.: Coffee and Facebook time, which reminds me how unexciting my life is compared to everyone elses.
10 a.m.: Clean the house. Periodic time outs for email and wallowing in self pity.
Noon: Make lentil soup in pathetic attempt to erase the memory of the 3 doughnuts I ate yesterday and the pile of pizza I scarfed down during "The Walking Dead" premiere.
1 p.m.: Taste soup. Needs something. More doughnuts, maybe.
2 p.m:. James is again whining to go out. His sister, Jessie, gives him the stink eye because she is comfortable on her giant green pillow which resembles a lily pad. She reluctantly gets up and stands by the door.
2:08 p.m.: James sees several chipmunks dart across the road in front of him and contemplates taking them out with one chomp. He sees how fat they are and reconsiders, obviously not wanting to take advantage of the situation. That would just be showing off.
3 p.m.: I make cookies to surprise my boys. I check them at the 8 minute mark--raw. I check them at the 10 minute mark--barely beige. I check them at the 12 minute mark--incinerated.
Pinche oven!
4 p.m.: Call Mom. We talk about the family, the weather, and how she only has 1 Oreo left in the package. I convince her to try Halloween Oreos (the best) and then silently wonder, "How can anyone leave just 1 Oreo in the package? Wouldn't you plow through the bag, see there was only 1 left and then just eat it?" Clearly my mother's sense of self control did not get passed down to me.
5 p.m.: James again flips out, whining like I am a negligent mother who has NEVER taken him out before. I can't decide if he has the bladder the size of a nickel or is just a crotchety old dog who enjoys dragging me around the block for sport.
6 p.m.: Dinnertime. God, lentils are boring.
7:30 p.m.: "Wheel of Fortune"! Time to feel smart again after feeling like the dumbest pile of crap during "Jeopardy".
8 p.m.: The dogs are asleep after jockeying for position on the couch. James claimed shotgun and velcroed himself to my side. After Jessie gave him sad puppy eyes for about 5 minutes and made this weird whining/growl hybrid noise which I took to mean, "You dragged me outside 3 times today when I was comfortable," James moved to the other side of the couch and Jessie stole my blanket and curled up next to my very warm hip.
Tomorrow will surely be more of the same.
