I also check my ashtray after each stove check, and then, when I finally do get out the door, I check that the latch has engaged another fourteen times. (No, I don't really count these things. Really.)
Compounding this problem, the BFC has discovered a new trick. She likes to go into the bathroom and rub her face on the door until it closes, and then bask in the heat of the small room with the big radiator.
I am of Irish heritage, which makes me prone to assume the worst (I once had a long argument with a Jewish woman about who suffered more guilt). Therefore, the idea that the BFC would lock herself in the bathroom while I was away, piteously mewing for the overloaded food bowl just the other side of the door, reduced to gnawing her paws for sustenance, and attracting attention from the neighbors only with her dying wail . . . kind of crosses my mind. Every now and then.
Well, the BFC is now attempting to help with the typing, and the NSC is lurking, just out of reach, demanding some attention for his own bad self, so I guess I'd better close here.
And go take the bathroom door off its hinges, of course.
[Update 2006-03-23: Fixed links --bjk]
3 comments:
What movie is it with Tom Hanks that begins with him directing a commericial? It's some sort of homey Christmas commericial in which the residents are leaving to visit Grandma for the holidays. An assistant places a kitten in the home scene, for atmosphere. Hanks goes on a tirade: "Great, just great. What happens to the kitten when the guy leaves? Poor starving skeleton gasping for food ..."
On the subject of fretting, you might enjoy this - read the essay titled locksmith:
http://draftdump.blogspot.com/
That "locksmith" post was pretty good. Don't, however, read the essay titled "Locksmith" (note case).
That one is a complete waste of time, with a nauseating ending.
You're going to read it, anyway, aren't you?
Well, I tried to warn you.
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