The Drama Tsunami
Two nights ago Gary conducted a symphony of drama. It began at 3 a.m. He woke me up with some quick-paced muttering about dog pee. "Dog! Pee! Pee here! Augh! Pee there! Augh! Pee, pee, pee." Then, slower and louder shouting directed at the still-sleeping me, regarding how if I weren't sick he wouldn't have to sleep on the floor with the urine since the DOG will BARK up to 90 times in a slow steady pace until we get in the same room. Then he hustled about putting on his glasses (broken suddenly in the night!) wadding up toilet paper (plain Scot Towels are no GOOD, the colors make them MORE ABSORBENT NEVER BUY THESE AGAIN). Finally there was a crescendo in which the toilet overflowed. Think 1812 Overture with explosions of curse words instead of cannon fire.
I got out of bed to help with the cleanup, and after taking a direct hit from the bellows I turned on my heel and ducked into the Nest room. A moment later the dog was scratching at the door. Dog and I stayed there about an hour until in true S______ fashion we went outside to apologize. (Every "I'm sorry" in In-lawland is followed by a silent "... aaaaaaand ....?" And true to form, he apologized for "overdramatizing.")
Still, I took revenge by wearing his underwear the next two days. I've been coughing, and they're more absorbent, what with the multi-layers of cotton the men have down there. Somewhere between a Poise pad and a diaper. And I coughed a LOT, so much I couldn't even see Erin when she was in town. I think I'll be back to normal tomorrow; my phlegm has turned into that liquid Gouda cheese you get at the end of a respiratory infection.The Sun Appears Again
This morning he had to work briefly at dawn, while I squeezed in extra REMs. (One glug of Nyquil supplies 3 hours of sleep to the minute.) He came back at 10:30 a.m. sunny and cheerful. I can see why the Elizabethans believed in humors. Gary purges some bile then he's in balance again.
I staggered into the kitchen. Gary held out a grape tomato and exclaimed. "You have to EAT one of these!"
I'd say once a week for the LAST 25 YEARS Gary has offered me tomatoes. If not tomatoes, mustard. I haven't liked either. For the last 25 years.
"No? REALLY? They're so good! Don't you like tomatoes?" No. Not for the last 47 years, even.
Sadly, I haven't had much of a chance to enjoy the warmth of Gary's sun. He conked out at about three. I hope he's awake in time to join me watching the Emmy's tonight. Right now he's missing his favorite part, the Boob Parade.
Ah! I just shouted to him he was missing boobs. He's up. And here's my Emmy prediction. Ask Gary about Mad Men:
"I HATE that show!"
Mad Men will win everything in every category, even if it isn't nominated.