blood and poop, right?”
“Actually, no. The nurses are good with
that stuff. I still have a weak stomach.” He put down his fork and rinsed his
mouth with milk.
“Anyway, Lisa didn’t open the door. Her
sister did, and she invited me to come in.”
“With the poop?” Bethany asked.
“Yep, with the poop. She didn’t know what
it was—yet. Don’t worry, I didn’t go in. I said I couldn’t come in with ‘this,’
so she offered to take it.”
“Oh, Mom,” Bethany complained, “why can’t
you just be nice?”
“Me? I am nice! I’m not the one pooping on their lawns!” It was
impossible to make a teenager see justice when her primary goal was acceptance.
Eddie stepped in. “What did you do, Anna?”
“Well, it obviously wasn’t going as
planned. Is there a good way to effectively deliver poop? I considered whether
I should just hand the bag to her. I thought about doing it.”
“So you just lit it with a match and ran
like I told you?” Eddie teased.
“You guys ! What is wrong with you?” Bethany threw down
her fork. “I have to live in this neighborhood, you know. I have to go to
school with those kids!”
“No,
I didn’t light it up,” I said to Ed.
“No,
I didn’t hand it to her,” I said to Bethany.
I spooned mashed
potatoes into Joey’s open mouth. “You don’t care what I did, do you, Joey?” He
gurgled.
I
took a big gulp of wine and continued with my poop saga. “I just shook my head
like an idiot and told her she shouldn’t take it into the house. Finally, Lisa
came to the door all chipper. You know how fake nice she is? I smiled back, but
mine was more a shit-eating grin.”
“ Language !” my daughter admonished me.
“Well,” I continued, ignoring my teenage
conscience, “then I just gave in and did it. What else could I do? I handed the
bag of shit to her,” I glanced at Bethany, daring her to correct me again, “and
said, ‘I believe this is yours.’” Eddie snorted milk out his nose. “I explained
its origin, and asked, as sweetly as possible, that she keep her dog at her
house.”
Eddie declared, “Good for you, Anna!”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. It wiped that smile
off Lisa’s face, for sure. She said I didn’t have to bring it over. She would
have come to pick it up if I’d just called. Damn. She completely missed the
point.”
“Lang—!” Bethany started. Eddie cut her
off by holding up his hand, palm to her. She would pick at me, but she wouldn’t
defy her father.
Mr. Fixit morphed
into Professor Wixim. “Think about it, Anna. This has two distinct sides.
Although we want Lisa’s dog to never crap in our yard, she is confident that her mere willingness to clean up
the individual piles at your daily request is sufficient to keep peace and
harmony. No amount of explaining can fix this. It’s just the way people are.
Not people like us. But the rest of them.”
Bethany groaned.
“People like you two. I’m one of them .”
“We
know, Bethany,” I said. “After dinner, you can pooper-scoop the whole yard for
us. That might help you appreciate the Wixim perspective.”
She
ran to her room and slammed the door. Joey began to wail. Stink the cat licked
spilled milk off the floor under the highchair. Eddie laughed and came over to
hug me. As my mind returned to me, I realized that attempting to comprehend the
reasoning ability, or lack of it, of the rest of the human race was exacting a
huge toll on my own intellect.
Best to just give up.
| | | |
Back on the day after I died , Eddie sits alone on our driveway and throws a wet,
chewed tennis ball for Lucy, our neighbor’s black Labrador. Although we were
declared “not dog people” by the rest of humanity, this sweet canine never got
the memo. She adores Eddie. Lucy chases the tennis ball as it bounces through
the trees and turns to race back to her friend. Although he’s watching her,
Eddie doesn’t react when Lucy pauses to dump a fresh load on the edge of our
lawn.
Whoa,
“Actually, no. The nurses are good with
that stuff. I still have a weak stomach.” He put down his fork and rinsed his
mouth with milk.
“Anyway, Lisa didn’t open the door. Her
sister did, and she invited me to come in.”
“With the poop?” Bethany asked.
“Yep, with the poop. She didn’t know what
it was—yet. Don’t worry, I didn’t go in. I said I couldn’t come in with ‘this,’
so she offered to take it.”
“Oh, Mom,” Bethany complained, “why can’t
you just be nice?”
“Me? I am nice! I’m not the one pooping on their lawns!” It was
impossible to make a teenager see justice when her primary goal was acceptance.
Eddie stepped in. “What did you do, Anna?”
“Well, it obviously wasn’t going as
planned. Is there a good way to effectively deliver poop? I considered whether
I should just hand the bag to her. I thought about doing it.”
“So you just lit it with a match and ran
like I told you?” Eddie teased.
“You guys ! What is wrong with you?” Bethany threw down
her fork. “I have to live in this neighborhood, you know. I have to go to
school with those kids!”
“No,
I didn’t light it up,” I said to Ed.
“No,
I didn’t hand it to her,” I said to Bethany.
I spooned mashed
potatoes into Joey’s open mouth. “You don’t care what I did, do you, Joey?” He
gurgled.
I
took a big gulp of wine and continued with my poop saga. “I just shook my head
like an idiot and told her she shouldn’t take it into the house. Finally, Lisa
came to the door all chipper. You know how fake nice she is? I smiled back, but
mine was more a shit-eating grin.”
“ Language !” my daughter admonished me.
“Well,” I continued, ignoring my teenage
conscience, “then I just gave in and did it. What else could I do? I handed the
bag of shit to her,” I glanced at Bethany, daring her to correct me again, “and
said, ‘I believe this is yours.’” Eddie snorted milk out his nose. “I explained
its origin, and asked, as sweetly as possible, that she keep her dog at her
house.”
Eddie declared, “Good for you, Anna!”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. It wiped that smile
off Lisa’s face, for sure. She said I didn’t have to bring it over. She would
have come to pick it up if I’d just called. Damn. She completely missed the
point.”
“Lang—!” Bethany started. Eddie cut her
off by holding up his hand, palm to her. She would pick at me, but she wouldn’t
defy her father.
Mr. Fixit morphed
into Professor Wixim. “Think about it, Anna. This has two distinct sides.
Although we want Lisa’s dog to never crap in our yard, she is confident that her mere willingness to clean up
the individual piles at your daily request is sufficient to keep peace and
harmony. No amount of explaining can fix this. It’s just the way people are.
Not people like us. But the rest of them.”
Bethany groaned.
“People like you two. I’m one of them .”
“We
know, Bethany,” I said. “After dinner, you can pooper-scoop the whole yard for
us. That might help you appreciate the Wixim perspective.”
She
ran to her room and slammed the door. Joey began to wail. Stink the cat licked
spilled milk off the floor under the highchair. Eddie laughed and came over to
hug me. As my mind returned to me, I realized that attempting to comprehend the
reasoning ability, or lack of it, of the rest of the human race was exacting a
huge toll on my own intellect.
Best to just give up.
| | | |
Back on the day after I died , Eddie sits alone on our driveway and throws a wet,
chewed tennis ball for Lucy, our neighbor’s black Labrador. Although we were
declared “not dog people” by the rest of humanity, this sweet canine never got
the memo. She adores Eddie. Lucy chases the tennis ball as it bounces through
the trees and turns to race back to her friend. Although he’s watching her,
Eddie doesn’t react when Lucy pauses to dump a fresh load on the edge of our
lawn.
Whoa,
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