Sunday, January 23, 2005

 

In Which An Ill Wind Blows...

I seem to have contracted some kind of stomach bug and after the morning I've had, I'm not so sure I'll be leaving this bed except to go drive the big white bus. Maybe later I'll stagger back downstairs to heat up some soup, although all we have in the house is tomato soup, which I usually like, but it's godawful on the return trip.

I'm propped up with pillows and comforters and about 4000 stuffed animals, courtesy of my daughter, who I think is feeling a tad guilty for taking advantage of me earlier. Her mother and brother--aka my wife and son--left (escaped?) the house about an hour ago. But my daughter announced that she would remain to care for me. As soon as they were gone, she regarded me with the gleaming eyes of someone who's just been given a giant new toy.

She's been ruling the roost ever since, knowing, I have no doubt, that I would be too sick to argue about anything. You want a second breakfast, honey? Graham crackers and chocolate chips straight from the bag? Here ya go. What are you doing with those rolls of Charmin? So the dog can be a toilet paper princess? Not sure I want to know more.

Then she wanted to change clothes again. The bathing suit doesn't fit over the tiger outfit from last Halloween, see. So we got the tiger suit off and I rooted through the closet. Turned around and...no daughter. Just a pile of socks and underwear where she stood a moment ago. Oh God.

She's doing laps through the living room, bare naked except for the pink nightgown tied around her neck like a cape. "I'm the Flying Bum Boolie!" she screams. And here comes the dog, a canine mummy trailing lengths of toilet paper from his collar, his tail, his mouth.

"Let's take a picture," she says, grabbing the camcorder off the computer desk. She's 3 and thankfully does not know the first thing about video cameras, but she's an expert at breaking things. So I grab the camcorder and then manage to snag her by one naked leg. "Swing me! I'm the Flying Bum Boolie!" she cries.

Don't know if I mentioned this before, but for reasons I can't go into just now, we have no curtains on our living room windows. I suppose, then, I can understand the look of frank surprise on the faces of my neighbors as they walked by and beheld me--in pajamas and bathrobe, holding a camcorder in one hand, a naked little girl dangling from the other. Oh, and just to complete the whole wonderful picture, we have a toilet paper-covered dog leaping in excited circles around us.

So I went to bed, figuring the vice squad will find me no matter what room I'm in. Might as well be comfortable.

Now the Flying Bum Boolie is sitting next to me, watching Peter Pan for the umpty-ump time. She finally settled on outfit #7: black turtleneck, black pants and a jaunty black beret. All she needs is a set of bongos and a goatee, although she might want to rethink the pink socks.

I dusted off this ancient laptop--I think it runs Windows 68--and through a series of arcane adapter plugs, I'm online. I feel fine, well, from the gag reflex on up, so I thought I'd write a bed blog. More later...maybe...

Yours,
From Somewhere On The Masthead

Comments:
Hey, I have enjoyed...your blog is informative - even entertaining.

I have a halloween sites. They pretty much covers costumes and masks related stuff.

Thanks again and I'll be sure to bookmark you.
 
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