Our whirlwind weekend in Virginia is over. It was so hot and humid there that my face practically melted off. I think the humidity was what sucked the life force out of me. Good god. Then I broke out in one spot on my face like it was 1989 all over again. I guess you get used to it. People were dining outside. As in, consuming food. I would exchange pleasantries with people and break out in a sweat. Attractive. Have you ever seen the movie Biloxi Blues? Matthew Broderick is impossibly young in it. Seriously. He’s 57 now. If you’ve ever seen Biloxi Blues you feel old as shit now in the realization that Broderick is 57. You’re welcome. Well. Maybe it’s just me that feels old as shit? Thank god I have this ACNE ON MY FACE to make me appear more youthful. Only I’m sure my wrinkles conceal it. Ok. Back to my point. In Biloxi Blues, Broderick is in Army basic training (which is perhaps why this movie has stuck with me for 31 years), and says, “Man it’s hot. It’s like Africa hot. Tarzan couldn’t take this kind of heat.” I suspect that’s true for Virginia as well because it was conspicuously absent of Tarzan. Just sayin’.
I was not surprised it was Africa hot in Virginia. One day, I spotted a man wearing a red ballcap atop his head. It was backward and I could tell it didn’t say “MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN”, although it looked like it would. I squinted to make out the writing from across the room, wondering to myself, “What is that word? Begin? Benign?”
The words finally came into focus. RESIGN MOTHERFUCKER. Ohhhhh. Viriginia. Now this surprised me. I guess I had preconceived notions about Virginia. Take for example their state slogan, proclaiming Virginia to be for lovers. “I don’t think they mean lesbians.” I pointed out to Andrea. People seemed really nonplused about that so I don’t know...
Our flight was delayed so by the time I burst through the front door yelling the names of the cats, it was close to midnight. “LOLA!” I bellowed. No cat came running. Which is unusual if you’ve met Lola. I moved deeper into the house and heard a muffled MEOW. I paused….There it was again. Where was it coming from?! I flung the bathroom door open and there was Lola. Pieces of door she’d scratched off littered the floor. “OMG! LOLA!” I shrieked, scooping her up. Based on my reaction, Andrea thought I’d discovered her dead. I guess she went into the bathroom and the door blew shut behind her. She was okay but really angry so she meowed for an hour which is precisely what you don’t need at midnight. She wasn’t trapped long as we had someone in to check on the welfare of these fools. Meanwhile, our cat Elliot is shrinking. And not in a good way. I affectionately refer to him as Old Man Rickets. He’s a bony mess. He reminds me of someone who I used to work with long ago. I affectionately referred to this person as apple face. Not TO their apple face, obviously. Anyway. Elliot looks a bit.... apple faced.
Andrea’s coping technique is to pretend he’s not withering to dust and he’s still agile. He’s not either so he’s going to the vet Saturday morning. He’s been suspiciously nice to me for a while now. If only he’d scratch me, I’d know he’s okay. I mean, he does still have spunk. One night last week, I heard a ruckus and flipped on the light, “The cats must have a mouse!” I shouted.
“It sounds like they’re beating one another up.” Andrea sleepily replied.
“Hm.” I said, unconvinced.
The next morning, I stumbled down the steps and did a Dunks run. While I was out, Andrea sent me a picture of a dead mouse at the bottom of the steps.
“HOW DID YOU NOT SEE THIS?!?!. You stepped OVER IT!?” Andrea texted.
“Good thing I didn’t step ON it!” I replied.
Old man ricketts. He still has some spark.