Who's The Real Runner?

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There's a disturbance of the FORCE within the Harris household. While it's taken for granted that I am the "runner" in the family, anyone paying attention these days would have to question whether my spot as "all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips" is being usurped by one laid-back CPA-type named Blair Harris. 

Blair started running last year as a way to maintain his weight loss and stay healthy. He doesn't get the same joy out of running I do--which makes me sad--but he sticks with it. He's been running 3 days a week consistently for months and has recently increased his mileage and (though he refuses to admit to it) his speed. 

What's embarrassing to face is that while I'm a faster runner than Blair, he's actually a better runner than me.

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Smug Marrieds: The "I Love You" Chicken

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Before Blair left for work yesterday, he walked into my office and gave me a kiss good-bye.

"Love you," he said. 

"I love you, too." 

He walked outside, got in his car and drove away. Three minutes later my phone rings. I see it's Blair. I pick up. "Hello?"

"I love you." 

"Aw, that's so sweet," I say, touched. 

"And the Earth Fare coupon for a free whole chicken is sitting on my printer upstairs."

"Aaaugh, you ruined it!" I said, laughing. "You didn't call to say you loved me! You called about chicken."

"No! I called because I was thinking about you and wanted to tell you I love you." He paused and then added sheepishly, "But, you know... I mean, it is a free chicken."

My next book is going to be on the different stages of romance in a marriage and how the hot passion of the early years somehow folds itself over into, "I love you--and don't forget the chicken," without you ever really noticing.

It's all good though.

Chicken and love are two of my favorite things in life. 

Cheers,

Dena

Rabies? What's Next? Locusts?

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Yesterday morning I spent almost four hours in the emergency room with Blair and my mom, both of whom had been bitten by a feral cat the three of us had been trying to trap. 

To make a long story short, my mom has been feeding this cat intermittently for almost a year, hoping to get close enough so we could take it in to be spayed. Then the cat turned up pregnant. Just the other day, my mom discovered where she'd had her kittens--in the sub-basement of a house up the street that was empty. We rescued the three kittens (who are 5 weeks old, FREAKING ADORABLE and very people friendly) and then tried to get mommy kitty. We managed to get her into my mom's garage but Ms. Kitty was having none of getting into the cage.

Mom had a grip on her when the cat turned and sank its fangs into the fingers on her left hand. Mom screamed, the cat hung on for dear life, and Blair finally pulled the cat off Mom. Mom raced into the house clutching a bloody hand while the cat proceeded to bite through the gloves Blair was wearing and nail him as well. 

I went to check on Mom whose hand was a bloody mess. Cat bites are a nasty business, filled with germs. It wasn't even 7 am so urgent care wasn't open. We piled into the car (Blair in the clothes he'd done a 5-mile run in that morning and me in hot pink Old Navy sweatpants, an old sweatshirt, and no bra or makeup. Looking good.) and drove to the nearest hospital, 35 minutes away.

I have discovered my new purpose in life. It is not to be a writer. It is to be a hospital administrator because for the life of me it appeared that the staff was operating with their thumb up their ass. They were friendly and courteous but paint dries faster then the pace they were moving. The upshot of the visit was that Blair and Mom both needed their wounds cleaned (2 minutes) and a tetanus shot (2 minutes) and a prescription written for penicillin. It took close to 4 hours to provide them with this. 

I so wanted to pull a Shirley MacLaine and start screaming, "Give my husband the shot!" at the desk, but I withheld. Instead, I informed the nurses that my mom had left a candle burning at home that we were anxious about and how long would it be, because I might need to drive home and blow it out. 

The minute I said that, 2 nurses went to my mom's room, cleaned her wound and gave her the tetanus shot. WTH?? Was there some reason they were just standing around the desk NOT attending to patients before I arrived? Inefficiency makes me mental. 

At this point, the feral cat is still in Mom's garage. We've set out a trap and once the cat goes in, animal control will collect it and take it to a local vet. Ideally, the vet will either hold the cat for 10 days to confirm no rabies, or they'll put it down and send the head off to be examined for rabies. If for some reason they won't hold the cat or send it off for testing, Blair and mom will have to undergo rabies shots. 

Really God? Rabies shots? Because you felt we didn't have enough challenges in life? No mind. Bring it. We will deal with rabies and anything else you have to offer, including a plague of locusts. 

What a week! 

Cheers, 

Dena