Thank Fricking God It’s Friday

Not that it really matters because all it means is that the kids are around to annoy and bother me.

Anyways…

I was pregnant with my oldest son and working at Meyer Jewelers at Twelve Oaks Mall in Novi…part of the chain of the now defunct family business that belonged to my ex-husbands. I was nearing the end of my working days because of how swollen and uncomfortable my ankles (and the rest of my body) were. Quite happily, actually. I didn’t like selling jewelry. And I hated working for his family business. I liked my manager Mike though. And some of the employees. I digress…

A few doors down from the store was the infamous mall pet store. Always crowded with moms pushing their kids in strollers to gawk at the puppies and tease their children until they have to scream that “No Timmy, we aren’t going to buy this $2000 puppy!” and frantically push the stroller out, running over feet and crashing into shins on the way.

It was there I met Boris.

I was standing between a screaming child and a couple who wanted to buy their first love child together.

He was “the one”.

He was a white puff with a major under bite. I asked one of the clerks if I could hold him. Which was a big mistake. Because $1200 of a rip off later, I brought home a (unbeknownst to me) flea-infested, color-pointe, Himalayan male kitty.

He was nuts.

Jumping from the top of our stairs, down 2 stories to the ceramic tiles below. Climbing fake ficas to the top. Escaping, every single time the front door opened.

There was one problem. Aside from flea infestation and having to dip all my cats AND my carpet in flea bath…

He had no voice.

He never meowed. His vocal chords didn’t seem to work. He purred loudly. But he would open his mouth to meow, his mouth would move like it was meowing…and NOTHING.

Until about a month ago. 14 1/2 years later…

He found his voice. And let me tell you, for an almost 15 year old cat, this guy doesn’t stop talking. At around 3am, he’s full of conversation. Squawking and crackling out his words, exercising a voice that had been atrophying do to lack of use.

It’s cute.

Only, not when I’m trying to sleep and he is standing on me, peering down into my eyes and his stinky cat food breath is in my face every time he pushes out something that resembles a meow. Every. Single. Night.

Then, it’s not so cute.

Goes to show you…even if it’s broke, you really don’t need to fix it.

***************************************************
Today. I sat at my endocrinologists office, in the waiting room, for about an hour.

Waiting. Tweeting. Tweeting. Waiting.

I get called into a room. I’m waiting another 30 minutes.

Tweeting. Waiting. Waiting. Cut off of Tweeting by an API time out but Tweeting anyways.

The doctor comes in. Finally.

We chat a minute. He apologizes for his tardiness. He asks me how I’m feeling. I tell him. He asks me how the meds are making me feel. I tell him.

He looks at my chart.
He looks at me.
He looks at my chart.
He looks at me.
He tells me…
There has been a mix-up.
I didn’t need to be there today.
His bad. He meant to put the 1 in the month column NOT the weeks column on the paper thingy that I turn in to the chicks at the check out desk.
Fuck.
That’s one hour and thirty minutes of my life that I’ll never get back.
But, he apologizes profusely again. He isn’t going to charge me. The $10 co-pay or send it in to my insurance company.
That’s terrific.
But is he going to send someone over to fold my laundry?

Comments

comments