Saturday, January 24, 2009

Pajama Day

Pajama Day is a cat lady's dream.  Imagine... waking up to a day in which there are no pesky employment obligations, no creditors lurking at your door and no relatives planning to visit.  Your social calendar is completely empty.  Household chores are unnecessary as you don't plan to wear clean clothes anyway, you can live off any leftovers in the fridge that haven't yet become science experiments and you couldn't give a crap whether your house is clean or not.

What do you do first?  The obvious thing is to go back to sleep, which you do until the other inhabitant of your home, the trusty canine, decides it's time to go outside and increase the number of land mines in the back yard.  This is brought to your attention by the tapping of doggy toenails, which should have been trimmed long ago... except that he would rather bite the hand that feeds him than have his nails done.  (He obviously doesn't understand the allure of French tips.)  You try to ignore the pitter-patter of large feet until the whining begins.  Soon you realize the whining is not due to the dream you were having about work and you become more fully awake.  Again, you try to ignore the signals by putting a pillow over your head.  When the whining finally erupts into a full-fledged bark, it's time to give up and get up.  (Cat silhouettes are much more accommodating... they never tap, whine or bark.)

As long as you're up, you might as well start brewing the coffee while the dog does his thing.  In the spirit of generosity, you provide food and water for him as well.  While doing this, you naturally spill water on the floor, slip on it and strain your bum knee.  Limping to the door to let the dog in, you realize that you should probably ice the knee, so you stop off to put an ice pack in the freezer to chill.  Upon opening the door of said freezer, all the boxes of Lean Cuisine that have been crammed inside slide out and fall on your unshod foot, creating a new shot of severe pain to go along with the pain shooting through your knee.  This means it's really time to get off your feet.  You finally make it to the door and the dog comes flying in past you, (bumping into your already sore knee,) to get to the delectable taste treats you've left in his bowl.  These are scarfed down in about 3 seconds and he turns to you with a pleading look that says, "That was lovely, but what else is for breakfast?"  On your way to the recliner you throw him a rawhide chew which is consumed by the time you lean back in the chair.  The whining begins anew, so being a thoughtful pet owner you lean over to scratch him behind the ears to relieve his angst.  This results in a new pain... this one in your back where a nerve exposed by a herniated disk gets pinched from leaning over the wrong way.  Back to the fridge to put in another ice pack.

This time the cold emanating from the freezer reminds you that you have to pee.  You hobble up the stairs with one hand on your aching knee and the other hand supporting your aching back.  Once seated upon the throne of relief, you realize there are only two sheets of toilet paper left on the roll.  (Had you cleaned the bathroom like most people do on a Saturday morning, you might have noticed this before settling down.)  As you attempt to rise, you find you can't because of the pain in your knee and back.  Meanwhile, the dog has begun to whine again because he misses the scintillating conversation you'd been having previously downstairs.  Grabbing hold of the sink with one hand and the toilet paper holder with the other, you pry yourself up painfully, hobble into the spare room to procure a new roll of paper from the bulk size package sitting there and return to complete your task, which has become much more urgent.  Glorious relief is at hand and soon it's time to once again grab onto the sink and toilet paper holder to pull yourself back up off the throne.  This time the toilet paper holder snaps off the wall, falling on the remaining toes that weren't attacked by the Lean Cuisine.  New pain shoots through your toes.  

It's becoming abundantly clear that the dreams of a relaxing pajama day are not going to materialize.  The only thing left to do is to pop half a bottle of Advil, dig out a pair of earplugs from the bedside stand, pull the shades and go back to bed.  Finally you drift back into an uneasy slumber... until the tapping begins again!


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