Roommate Troubles.

So everything was going great with Maisie, our new roommate. For the first week or so, she mostly stayed out of our way and we stayed out of hers--and when we did hang out, it was really chill. You know, she'd scoot up the wall and I'd just kind of keep typing, and then eventually she'd scoot somewhere out of sight and I'd be sure to check my shoes before putting my feet in them.

But then she started inviting some shady friends over. For example, this guy.

And another guy I found in a teacup but whom I didn't have a chance to photograph.

Let's just put it this way. Maisie, if you're reading this (from the internet connection for which you HAVE NOT YET PAID), consider yourself on roommate probation until further notice. For serious.

The Elephant in the Room.

So I got a rather offensive mailing this week from some weight loss company trying to raise money. I mean, they weren't very subtle about their suggestion that I slim down.

No thanks, American Association of Unfortunate Weights. I will not succumb to your insidious mind games and believe that, if I send you a check, I will one day be the size of the smallest, cutest elephant in the line instead of the biggest!

(But thank you for the stationery.)

Our Newest Roommate.

To be honest, children, I thought one of you (most likely the oldest) would be the first roommate your father and I ever brought into our lives. But that was before I met Maisie.

Meet Maisie.

Ever since she first darted into my peripheral vision while I was typing at my computer, I knew that we lived in the same house. But it was only later that I realized that made us honest-to-goodness roommates.

Maisie & me, just hanging out near a wall.

At first, I thought I would most likely murder Maisie, as I had done to so many of her brethren (sistren?) over the years. But after naming her, murder began to seem increasingly undesirable. So we struck upon a truce: she would kill and devour any insect intruders (or as she calls them, "squatters") she came across, and I would let her live. With us.

Thumbs up for inter-species friendship!

I have no regrets, though since our first full day of friendship, I haven't seen much of Maisie. And honestly, it doesn't bother me excessively. Let's just hope she doesn't try to pull this disappearing shit when the rent's due.

Care of Magical Creatures.

As you know, children, I am a fervent proponent of tricking yourself into doing things that are less than pleasant but must nonetheless be done. This weekend, I devised a clever way to take more pleasure out of vacuuming the house.

All I had to do was trick myself into believing that our vacuum cleaner was a magical creature named Hortensia who lives in the front closet and enjoys eating the dirt accumulated on human carpets. She's a very low-maintenance magical creature, and only needs to eat once a week (or so) to survive, but she does require some attention, as I realized this weekend when I noticed something was not right with her midsection.

It turns out she needed a stomach transplant--good thing I bothered to check! It was touch and go for a while, but she pulled through in the end. 

Style 7 stomachs, which suit most vacuums named Hortensia.

The operation.

You can probably imagine how relieved I was once the operation was over and Hortensia was back to her old self. See you next week, Horty!

Your Father Adopts a Hunting Hound.

After a riveting business trip during which I posted absolutely nothing about my everyday life on the road, I'm back in town and I've got lots to report.

Children, you know very well that I am highly allergic to animals of all kinds (as well as all things that bring joy to humans, including Christmas trees and possibly ice cream). However, your father does not seem to care.



In fact, this weekend, he adopted a hunting hound as his new Official Best Friend.

He also adopted a sidekick, in the form of an absurdly cute two-year-old girl. I can only imagine what world-saving adventures they will get up to in the coming months and years. What a team.

Eatin' Chick'n.

Children, you may have noticed that I, your mother, do not eat meat products. This is not, as you may have suspected, because of an abiding love for animals that I harbor in my breast. In fact, I do not like animals very much; it is this very dislike that prevents me from eating them.


I don't want them living in my house, and I don't want them dying in my oven. It's very simple. Anyway, your father is kind enough to accommodate my choices. Here we are enjoying a casual dinner he prepared, which consists of stir-fried vegetables, fish filets with mayonnaise (for him), and chick'n fingers (for me).

Oh, and also some of us decided to wear "poncho-style" garments to this meal, which may surprise you, as you know we have a strict no-ponchos rule in our house these days. Guess why I had to make that rule.

Siiiigh.