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Wednesday, February 18, 2009

A right dog’s breakfast

I decide that I can no longer cope. It’s not so much overwhelmed as underwhelmed. Each and every individual has their own personal agenda, none of which appear to have any overlap. My adult daughter accosts me in the utility room.
“So…… I’m going over the hill after all……a different party.”
“Oh good. It will be nice for you to have a chance to pl…..be with your friends.”
“But it’s a pot luck…….any ideas?”
“Garlic bread, always goes down a storm with starving students.”
I leave her free reign of the kitchen and gambol off to my other responsibilities.
My other responsibilities appear to have lost their marbles completely. “What on earth do you think you are doing? I already told you, leave your duvet upstairs, no nests downstairs.”
“But, but, but……?”
“No ifs no buts no coconuts, we had a deal my fine friend!”
“But……dah nest is for my fine friend.”
“Which fine friend?”
“Oh no, is that smelly dog in there with you too?” I haul six foot of damp duvet off the pair and drag it into the utility room, where I bump into the next deviant. “Good grief! Whatever are you doing in there!”
“I like it.”
“Come out of the laundry chute before you break your neck. I know it makes a great hidey hole but you might fall out. I don’t have time to go to the emergency room today.” His sister knocks us for six as she comes bowling in from the garage, trousers wet from knee to ankle. “Good grief! Where have you been? What have you been doing?”
“Nothin……jus kickin a ball around.”
“In the rain! You’ll catch your death.”
“Hardly Mom, this is only lil ole California sprinkles, isnthat whatcha always say?”

“Yes dear?” I keep the ‘what is it now tone’ out of my voice, not because I am good but because she will notice.
“What happens if you put 4 cups of water in the bread mix rather than 1 and a half cups?” We peer into the bread maker, “looks a little like bread soup.”
“No worries I’ll feed it to the dog and start again.”
“What happens to a puppy if you feed him 4 pounds of raw bread dough do you suppose? Tell you what, take Thatcher to the party over the Santa Cruz Mountains. See if he still suffers from car sickness and report back.”

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