My little Weeds- the dark prince of broken dishware,corner crap,chewed
shoes, window screen climbing, and midnight cage rattling--was doing the
war dance on my stuff again.  he decided to check out my nighttable for
his favorited delicacy - oil of olay hand cream... now poor Weeds is stone
deaf- has poor eyesight, small brain which is probably not very reality
based anyway-he has consumed so much shampoo,soap,cigarette butts,cut
flowers, and chinese take out- I fear for his common sense.
 
So he is dancing on my nighttable and knocking everything all over- the
lamp goes crash.  The phone is dangling and a metalic voice is saying in a
heavy Brooklyn accent " you appear to have a reciever off the hook,please
hang up and try your call again"---
 
Weeds has the oil of olay and is about to make off to his lair with his
prize- but he becomes discombobulated by my anger and gets tangled in my
pajamas instead.
 
The answering machine is one the floor buzzing away .
 
Later in the day I come home to the situation having been made right and a
message on my machine.
 
I press to hear the message and it is an aquaintance.andrea whom I have
not heard from in some time- and her message is this:
 
"Hello,heelooo,heeelloo is that you Christine?-- who in hell is -like -
Weeds- ??, is that -like- your new girlfriend or something?-like-what kinda
name is -like-Weeds?-- what does she work for the border patrol or =like -
something??- hey call me will ya- ?  ""
 
So I say huh-what ?? and play back my recording.- the message on my tape
is this:
 
Godamn it Weeds will ya cut it out and get off me, come here
sweatheart,give mommy the oil"
 
The record button was on while Weeds was doing his war dance on my night
table.  I know it's a stupid story - but true.
 
Christine
[Posted in FML issue 3464]