Thursday, October 29, 2009

*boy genius.

Strange things happen when you live alone. Long stretches of time go by without speaking, so that the quiet is punctuated only by sounds—dog food hitting the bottom of the bowl, acorns popping off the roof, the disquieting groan of the floorboards and the phenomenal gushing roar of the ancient dishwasher.

When there's no one to talk to, you have time to notice things, most notably the strange behavior of a canine in a speech-free environment. (I believe this is how dogs live in the wild, so I can only assume J's behavior is quite normal and not at all cause for concern.)

Last night all was calm on the Woodside. J's eyelids were flickering madly, a sign that he is in a space many days from consciousness, probably dreaming about Cheetos and golden retriever ears. I was completing that most sexy of household tasks, Windexing the bathroom sink, when I violently sneezed into the silence.

I heard J leap off the sofa in a panic, whining and skittering desperately across the slick floors in his attempt to reach me. He stopped short, panting, at the threshold of the bathroom door, and we stared at each other for a moment—me, wide-eyed in bemusement, and he, wide-eyed in terror and confusion.


I think he thought I exploded.




my foodgawker gallery



I am a work in progress. I perpetually need a hair cut. I'm totally devoted to my remarkable nieces and nephew. I am an elementary home cook and a magazine worker bee. (Please criticize my syntax and spelling in the comments.) I think my dog is hilarious. I like chicken and spicy things. I have difficulty being a grown-up. Left to my own devices, I will eat enormous amounts of cheese snacks of all kinds.