Missing cakes and other anomalies of the universe

Alas, no cake. Nearly a week has lapsed since my birthday and all I received was a fat shining pile of turkey meat. My Mom, no doubt consumed with guilt at her inadequate motherhood, tried to push the meat into some semblance of cake and actually served this sham to me with a weak smile. Happy Birthday,she sang.

I met not her gaze.

I did consume this "cake", dear friends. But only barely. It took me a full five seconds instead of my usual two to eat the thing. It's a wonder I could get it down. And now I retire with my teddy to contemplate the deficiencies of my Mother. As I lay here, on my back, sighing deeply, I notice my Dad's mouth is twitching. It must be some sort of fit he's having. Poor man, he has those often. Lupe has come to console me, my little loyal Mexican flower. My Mother's eyes seem to be stuck in the top of her head for some reason, they keep rolling up there. Strange woman. She should get that checked out.

I'm four years old! Where's my damn cake.

Monday Aug. 27th was my 4th birthday. And, a conspicuous lack of cake, I might add. My Mom brought me a doggie "candy bar" which was fine. She made me share with Lupe, which was not fine. I heard her say something about pie, but she only baked a human one. What gives? I'm sending guilt rays at mom until she gives in.....

Napoleonic complex

Last weekend I was walking on a trail with family and friends when I spotted a Rottweiler being walked in the distance. Before my dad could hold onto my leash, I broke away, tearing down the path in order to heroically defend my family from certain death.

No one told me Rottweilers are actually very big close up.

I confess I did slow my assault once I got closer. But, I had clearly paralyzed my opponent in fear. He stood staring down at my brave assault. His owner was laughing, though. Hmm. Must be because he was relieved I didn't take down his poor dog.

My dad came running up behind me. He seemed distressed. So I told him it was okay, the Rottweiler would be allowed to live.

Attack the stocking!

As I hung the stockings on our banister of our new home I saw the slinking, shadowy form of our dachshund out of the corner of my eye. Although this behaviour usually indicates imminent disaster I pushed it out of my mind to focus on getting the stupid wire to wrap correctly. When I stood back to admire my handiwork the slinking, beady eyed form turned into a blur as Hamish launched himself at my husband's stocking. propelled by memories of Christmas past, propelled by inner demons, propelled by lust of anything fluffy - who knows why, but man he was propelled! After I swatted his butt he shifted his attack to the fairy ornament, which I should note, is a good five feet off the ground. When confronted with the physically impossible, dachshunds remain undaunted and call up some inner power heretofore unknown by man. True to his breed, Hamish morphed into some freakish bird as he leaped for that ornament. But I leaped too. And he and I,making for the same goal, had a meeting of minds in that millisecond. It was not a peaceful meeting and I shattered his hopes as I deflected his body with mine. He gazed at me for an unnervingly long time from the floor and then slunk away, no doubt to plot his revenge.