I hate giving the kitty bubble therapy. She hates it. She fights it. But she's thriving on it and she doesn't spend her days and nights hiding from me because of it. As a matter of fact, the minute we're done she'll run off but if I go lay on the couch, she's right on top of me. Which is what I do now as part of our routine because I feel so rotten for poking her with a huge needle and have to make it up to her to appease my guilt. (It's always about me, isn't it).
I just wish she wouldn't fight it so much while we're giving it to her.
Every other day for the rest of her life we have to do this. And with a change of diet plus the saline, she could live a long time.
I'll just have to take it every other day at a time.
No bubble therapy tonight. Yay!
I'm working today. But not in the morning like I usually do. Mr. Frame Shop called and asked me to work this afternoon. He says it's because he won't be there this morning - and we have to work together if he wants his bills paid. Correctly. But I'm suspicious that he's trying to keep me away from the mailman.
Our little mailman who I make blush with my raunchy words. Knowing full well that he can't say anything back to me because postal employees got specialized training in how not to talk raunchy.
Heh. I love our mailman. He slips from his specialized training all the time then catches himself and gets all awkward. Like we're going to report him. Not us. We encourage that kind of talk. Sexual Harrassment never kept me down in the workplace. Hell, when I was truly a working gal, I could talk raunch with the best of the old curmudgeons and it never kept me from being promoted or being paid what I was worth. I think the old nasty bastards liked having me around to see if one day they could make me blush. Never happened.
Now I make the mailman blush.
And I get paid to do it.
I love my little job.
So I'm taking it slow this morning, doing my hair in that weird way that my mom disapproves of. I'm going out for soup in a little bit. Well, I'm going over to a spa to make some special arrangements for next week's special massage with a friend and it just happens to be nearby the drive-through soup place.
"special massage" sounds like there'd be a "happy ending", know what I mean? But that's just gross and there'll be none of that at this fancy schmancy spa. I just want to do something that I need to ask a question about and want to do it face to face so they can't reject my idea like they might if I ask them over the phone.
You wish you knew what I was talking about, didn't you. But you don't. Not most of you. Maybe I'll share later. After next week and the no Happy Ending.
9:45 a.m. - December 07, 2006
Recent entries:
just wondering - June 16, 2012
10 Years of Blogging - October 31, 2010
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For Cosmic - June 29, 2009
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