Guy at Pet Store: It sounds like passive aggression. We offer a Good Citizen class here for dogs, and Henry might be a good candidate. Actually, I’m in training to be a trainer, and I’ll be teaching the good citizen class in July.
Me: You’re training for training?
Guy at Pet Store: Ha! Yes! They have to train ME before I can train the dogs! HA HA HA!!!
Me: If you sit and stay, do they bone you?
Guy at Pet Store: What?
Me: I mean, do they give you treats?! I HAVEN’T YET HAD PROTEIN TODAY AND I’M SO SORRY RIGHT NOW!!!
Guy: That will be $17.46.
According to the calendar, the next time you hear from me I’ll either be on vacation or I’ll be back from vacation. This morning I bought food for the pups and underwear for me, because good citizens do not chew holes in people’s underwear, and our dogs are NOT good citizens. (Yet.) I’ve also placed my new notebook (It’s my first Moleskine! Let’s plan a parade!) and my fountain pen with a few ink samples in my suitcase, and I shall now offer a huge thank you to my friend Lisa who reminded me that liquids on a plane? Not a great idea, and I would be SO ANGRY if an agent walked away with my tiny bottle of J. Herbin Lierre Sauvage, therefore: suitcase instead of carry on! (Another huge thank you goes out to Tempe for fueling my new obsession—fountain pens and fun ink. She knows me better than I know myself.) The house/dog sitters are ready. Us? Not so much.
We’re headed to Sanibel Island, where Jean Shepherd died in 1999. While there, I’m going to wear my new underpants and lazily hunt out a dessert that holds rhubarb, the girls are expecting to fill their pockets with shells, and Jeff will be anxiously looking over his shoulder for Wilfred Brimley. According to my research, Mr. Brimley has a house in Sanibel. Jeff eats Quaker Oats every single morning for breakfast. (It’s the right thing to do.)