Day Two: Levity and Larceny

Did I tell you guys there was an element of panic involved in being unemployed?

I did?

Well, that was so yesterday.

Because today is pretty much...

WOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooo!

Kind of like how Steve Martin reacts in the movie "Parenthood" when his nervous kid FINALLY makes that game winning catch in right field?

Hey! That's ME! (to be read aloud in your best "Clucky Chicken" voice.)

I sprang from my bed this morning (and those of you who know me know: I'm just not a springer and SURE AS HELL I'm not a morning springer) and then I (get this) MADE THE BED.

Yes! Made the bed with the Chenille Number Five! And I didn't spit up!

Then! Then, I had a torturous session on the BowFlex. (Ouch! In a good way!)

Then! I self-righteously dropped off mine and Satan's cast off clothes for the needy at the Salvation Army.

Then! I took a few leisurely phone calls out on my porch.

And? WHILST I was out on my porch, I had to be honest with myself: What with all the recent goings on in my life, Satan (that sly bastard) has taken this opportunity to pull ahead of me in the porch wars.

Yep, there's no getting around it, his porch is prettier than mine this year. All blooming purple petunias and two kinds of roses and I-don't-know-what-all. This this isn't the first time this year I've made the observation either. Earlier in the spring, we had a conversation that went like this:

ME
(Surveying his wildly blooming porch.)

SATAN

(Smugly watering his Dahlias)

ME
(Examining a climbing vine heavy with purple blooms as big as my hand.)

(Then, reluctantly...)

Nice Chlamydia.

SATAN

It's a CLEMATIS.

ME

Whatever.

*

Of course, Satan having a better looking porch than me for any length of time is, quite simply, unnacceptable, and with my intrepid FurGirl at my side, I quickly swung into action.

First, I dug out the Mission Impossible soundtrack from the bottom of the CD holder where I'd stuck it when one of the kids abandoned it several years ago, and began playing it softly on the stereo. Next, I located Satan's prized Maui Jim sunglasses, liberated them from their velvet-lined case, and carefully placed them on FurGirl. I disguised myself by placing a set of stuffed reindeer antlers with jingle bells from several Christmases ago on my head.

We were ready.

As the MP theme continued to play in the background, FurGirl and I slunk through the door and out onto the forbidden zone of Satan's porch. FurGirl, a master of nonchalance, immediately busied herself sniffing her own butt while I quickly selected two profusely blooming and attractively potted petunias.

We were nearly home free when, suddenly, the silence was shattered by the unmistakable strains of the introduction to "Sweet Home Alabama" wafting from the far reaches of my sports bra where I had stashed my cell phone.

After a few paralyzed seconds during which a jumpy and distinctly (now) chalant FurGirl and I nearly shat ourselves, I sat down a petunia, reached into my cleavage, retrieved my phone, and checked my caller I.D.

It said: Satan.

"It's him!" I whispered to FurGirl who reflexively slung off the Maui Jims into a nearby pot of split leaf philodendron ivy.

ME

Hello?

SATAN

Hello?

ME

Hello?

SATAN

What are you doing?

ME
Nothing!

SATAN

What did you do before that?

ME

Nothing!

SATAN

Is that all you can say...nothing?

ME
(Shaking my head)

SATAN

Do I hear jingle bells?

ME

Of course not!

SATAN

Is that the...what...the Mission Impossible song?

ME

Gotta go!

SATAN

But I haven't...

ME

(click)

So there you have it. And the day's barely half over!