The 21st Most Gorgeous Day – – NOT!!

Dear blog readers, today, as self was driving home from having put in several hours at her college’s Writing Center, she started to compose a post in her mind, something about this being “the 21st Most Gorgeous Day So Far This Year”, a post that would talk about how quiet it was in the Writing Center, since it is too early yet for students to be writing papers, and how self was thus able to read many reference books, such as the American Heritage Dictionary, where she looked up the word “dyspeptic” and found out — hey, what do you know — self wasn’t that far off when she surmised that it might be close in meaning to “apopleptic.”

Then, on the way home, self stopped by Chocolate Mousse on Laurel Street in San Carlos, and bought herself a scoop of Double Rainbow ice cream (Peanut Butter Sundae w/ Chocolate Chips), and bought carrot cake to bring home.

So, self was all set to get cracking on “gorgeous day” post the minute she got home, but just as she passed the border of Redwood City, she realized she didn’t have her shades. And, since self is so adept at multi-tasking, she hunted for them in her bag while driving, and ascertained that indeed they were not in her bag. Then, she pulled over and looked under the driver’s seat. Nope, nothing. Then she backtracked to Chocolate Mousse and, nope, nothing. Then she realized she had actually lost a pair of shades. And it was a good thing these were just $20 sunglasses from Six Flags, which she bought 10 years ago and are definitely not “cool”. Not anything like Maui Jim’s or like the shades self bought for son’s birthday. But she did regret their loss, as self is superstitious and interprets such slip-ups as a portent of things to come. Since there are so many things self has to hold in her tiny li’l noggin’, she lives in fear that each new slip-up will turn into the proverbial “last straw” that causes everything to go down the toilet, in an amazingly quick amount of time.

But that was not yet the nadir of self’s day. No, nadir was reached when self arrived home, li’l Gracie licked her toes in a manner self interpreted to mean contriteness, whereupon self went to the backyard and — hellooooo!! Next thing you know, self is chasing Gracie hither and thither in the backyard, screaming, YOU LITTLE MUTT!! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!!! AAAARGGGH!

And of course loyal blog readers can figure out what sort of scene presented itself to self’s disbelieving eyes after she got home. And self couldn’t help remembering that son told her a while back that he’d learned that beagles were “the second dumbest dogs in the world.” And when self asked which dogs were the dumbest, son said he didn’t remember, all he knew was that beagles were the second dumbest.

And, yes, self now has to agree that beagles are indeed very very very dumb dogs.

For instance, if someone had grabbed you by the scruff of your neck and pushed your face into a plate of food, even if it was food like the ones self has been dreaming about lately, the Filipino kind, would you not connect the unpleasant experience with that type of food, so that the next time you were presented with such, you would rear up, back away, and be so nauseated you could not eat? One would think so.

Unfortunately, that does not seem to be the way Gracie’s brain operates. She is hungry, and in spite of the fact that our garden is a regular snack-o-rama, what with the fallen apples and cherries and figs and oranges that self has not the time or the wherewithal to collect, she goes for the one thing she knows will bring out the Cruella de Ville side of self: the newly planted seedlings, the ones that self so strenuously re-planted this morning, after many shouts of “No, Gracie! Bad dog!”

Now, li’l crit is howling piteously in the backyard and scrabbling at kitchen door. Amazing. Self has just scared the bejezus out of her, and still she craves self’s company. Now self remembers another quote about beagles, this one offered by Dearest Mum, who at times has taken to saying self reminds her very much of a beagle, because “they will lick the foot that kicks it.” Ha ha ha ha ha! Guess that’s why self is stuck with a dog like Gracie! Because we’re so much alike! Thank you once again, Dearest Mum!

Let me just assure dog lovers out there that self does not actually intend to chop Gracie up into little pieces, in the manner of what Peter Stormare did to Steve Buscemi in Fargo, but she will now have to re-think her garden strategy, as it is clear the new plants self bought from Wegman’s sale are dead, chewed right down to their scrawny little roots.

Stay tuned, dear blog reader, stay tuned.

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