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Monday, September 28, 2020
My Favorite Time of Year
Monday, September 21, 2020
Dear Housesitter
Why can't I just say, "The key is under the mat, help yourself to what's in the fridge, the dog food bin is next to the washing machine," like everybody else?
We were planning a long weekend for one last hurrah before summer ended, and it took me three days to write out instructions for the Best Ever house-sitter.
This is the key to the front door, this is the key to the back door, why we don't have them keyed alike we don't know, this is the key to the shed, and this key which looks exactly like the first three, we don't recall what it goes to but we can't take it off the key ring because someday we will suddenly need it and remember.
The house cats can go outside but the outside cats aren't allowed in the house. But the house cats have to stay inside after dark, but they will try to sneak out if you open the door. If they manage to escape, you can hunt all night and never find them but if they are not eaten by coyotes in the dark, they will materialize from nowhere on the porch at sunup to curse you for leaving them out there.
If loud tapping on the window wakes you up in the night, it's only the house cat and the garden cat fighting through the glass.
You can eat whatever you find in the fridge. Speaking of the fridge, it makes an occasional knocking sound, no one knows why, don't be alarmed. Could be a leprechaun.
No amount of turning the kitchen faucet will make it stop dripping until the new faucet is installed. Meanwhile we apologize for the water torture.
The turkey will fly up to roost on the top rail at night, and he'll stay up there till he thirsts to death unless you poke him with this long stick to make him fly down every morning.
There is no surprise baby turkey like last time we left you in charge. (Still sorry about that.)
The dog will chew all your things but only if you're not looking.
The goat gets her head stuck in the fence twice daily and you have to turn her head to her left while you tilt her horns to the back to release her.
The low-flow water-saver toilet has to be flushed twelve times before everything goes down. We have yet to understand the water-saving feature.
All the stove burners are currently functional. (A brizillion points to Hunneypunkin.)
Here is the TV remote. Here is the DVD remote. Here is the Blu-ray remote. Here is the VCR remote. Yup, still have one. Here is the CD remote. Here is the air conditioner remote. It doesn't work with this air conditioner. I don't know why we still have it.
Here is my collection of Jeremy Renner movies.
Here is my life savings, though for all this you deserve so much more than thirty-six dollars.
Monday, September 14, 2020
Pixie's Alter-Ego
Pixie, who has had the same phone number since the dawn of Pixie sharing a phone with her sister, has had her digits hijacked. A mysterious Brittany seems to have given Pixie's number as her own at some point, and for over a year now we've learned a few random items about Brittany via text message.
Brittany recently qualified for a free year of Netflix. (We can all hope she will reject pedophilia and decline the offer.)
Brittany hasn't signed for a package.
Brittany needs to sustain her celebrity status. (What does that even mean?)
Ian says Brittany hasn't signed for a package.
Brittany's keto pills are ready.
She has at least $3000 waiting for her.
Tom says Brittany hasn't signed for a package.
Brittany's prescription is ready to pick up at the pharmacy.
Her Amazon order has shipped.
Brittany hasn't signed for a package.
She has a limited time offer for twenty percent off her next jewelry order.
She hasn't signed for a package.
A couple of more recent texts have been rather inappropriate. Not to be judgy, but it might be best for Brittany to spend her time and attention on something better than Netflix.
And, once again, Brittany hasn't signed for a package.
Brittany's text messages are daily routine now. She's not nearly as interesting as Jeremy Renner.