Note the transfer of black cat fur onto the drapes in the shape of a drowsy pussycat. I had the drapes cleaned. They now hang on very sturdy hangers in my coat closet. I have reached a stage of maturity that includes having a coat closet and knowing what belongs in it. This comes right before, “Hey, you kids! Get off my lawn! I baked cookies, do you want oatmeal or peanut butter?”
Aging is fraught with peril. I’m working a lot of hours right now so keeping domestic details organized and in motion is tricky and crucially important. Last night, I packaged up lunch, an afternoon snack – designed to keep drive-thrus of any stripe from holding salty appeal – and the papers I’d need to harass the publishers in Maryland of whom Miss Manners would not approve. This morning, as I pulled into a parking space at work, I noticed I had lunch but I’d left my purse-replacing Dragonball Z lunchbox on the kitchen floor. I have to drive home to retrieve it and I’ve rehearsed my:
Tata: But officer, we little old ladies forget things, as God intended. Do you know what was written on the side of the Titanic?
Tata: Sure. It also said something like “Not even the hand of God could sink the Titanic.” Boy, were they forgetful!
Officer: If you remember that, I bet you can remember to carry your driver license. Here’s your ticket, and there’s your court date.
Tata: …I won’t remember…
Officer: I’ll help you for one of those cookies.
A bad dress rehearsal means a good opening night.