If we were having a glass of wine: Day 19

Some bloggers write posts that start "If we were having coffee ... ." I rarely drink caffeine though, and I write during a time when I might be drinking a glass of wine and most people are sleeping, so I write "If we were having a glass of wine ..." posts. Let's sit by the fire and talk.



If we were having a glass of wine,I would tell you I don't think Kroger employees should talk to customers while the customers are peeing. Some people have shy bladders that clam up midstream when a stranger talks from outside the stall about how busy the store has been that day. Not that I have a silly shy bladder, of course. Just some people do.

If we were having a glass of wine I'd tell you I'm a little worried about my pumpkin pies this year. I started to cook up a big orange Cinderella pumpkin, but I realized my refrigerator is too full of turkey dinner stuff to store a couple of gallons of pumpkin puree. So I grabbed a white pumpkin that was about the right size and cut it in half. Instead of the bright orange flesh I expected, it was white inside too. So I think my pumpkin pies are going to look pretty anemic this year. I wonder if anybody will even eat the my pale ghostly pies. Oh who gives a flying fuck. I don't really like to share anyway.

If we were having a third glass of wine I would fill you in on the status of butt plug plugging. You would ask me to fill you in, because apparently butt plugs are fascinating enough that numerous people have asked me about them as if I were an expert, which I'm not. I would share my disappointment that Jennifer from Plug Joy didn't respond to my email in which I shared my butt plug post to let her know I'd fulfilled my end of a bargain we didn't exactly shake hands on. I would have to say I think it's pretty fucking short-sighted to ignore my attempt at paid advertising when I not only wrote that post, I also inspired women at my church who have never plugged their butts to look into the practice. For all I know, brown paper packages have already landed on their doorsteps. Surely that was worth even more than $20.

And just to be clear, I would probably have to assuage your curiosity and admit that I neither vajazzle nor do I buttazzle. In fact, I wear very little jewelry, especially in my bottom area, which I do not consider my most attractive feature, even should I plug a fake pink diamond in back there. I certainly don't judge others who like a more decorative anal area. You do you. And if you do do you, and since we're on our third glass of wine, I'd have to ask if you can sit down with that thing in and does it make you have to poop. Moving on.

If we were having a glass of wine I would tell you my 100-pound standard poodle Crow Cocker had to have a growth that looked like a brownish-red balloon taken off his forehead. When I arrived at 5:00 after a crazy busy Friday, I hoped I could make Coraline's performance at her school's harvest feast, even though I knew I'd miss the dinner. It started at 5:30, and the drive back to the city would take 45 minutes and then I'd have to drive another 20 to the place where the dinner was held.

He wasn't ready. When the vet finally called me back it was to confess that she'd given him the wrong drug when she tried to put him under. It was a drug that usually wasn't given that way, straight into the bloodstream. She had to call doggy poison control, which cost $60. She generously said I wouldn't have to pay for that. They recommended she push IV fluids through him for two hours to clear out the unwanted drug. Two fucking hours.

So I sat on an old church pew and read a magazine for 2 1/2 hours while an exceedingly obnoxious woman tried to wake up her miniature Airedale called Willy by clap clapping her hands over and over and over again and talking baby talk in a high-pitched voice. Clap clap "Wake up, Willy." Clap clap "Do you hear the kitties, Willy? The kitties are meowing, Willy." Clap clap Clap clap Clap clap "Is your tail wagging? Is your widdle widdle tail starting to shake, Willy?" Clap clap Clap clap "See the kitty, Willy? Is the kitty going to get into that chocolate, Willy?" Clap clap Clap clap Clap fucking clap I'll bet Willy wished he could get a perpetual morphine drip. I considered choking her out with Crow's leash, but I didn't want to do anything that would prolong my wait.

Finally he got to leave, but only after I had paid $170 for my little jar of tumor. And entirely missed the school dinner.

If we were on our fourth glass of wine I'd confess that in spite of my jokes about dating and how it's not something I plan to waste my time doing, I sometimes miss sharing my life with another responsible adult. I feel like I'm slipping further and further behind and it would be nice  -- maybe -- to have someone else around to help fix the things that need fixing in an old house and to do the dishes after I cook and to help put clean sheets on the bed and to go on vacation with and ... well, it doesn't bear imagining, because I really don't see myself sharing my life with a romantic partner ever again. But there are times when I miss sharing responsibilities with another grown up. I would tell you that, but we'd both know my dismal track record and agree I'm better off alone.

By now I'd be falling asleep on the couch and the Netflix fireplace would have burned down four times, and you'd be thinking I'd done all the talking .... again. Sorry. That's what the comments are for. 

What would you tell me if we were having a glass of wine together? It's just us here, and I'm already half asleep. I won't remember in the morning.