Random Esquire

I had to tear Lilthy Filthy away from the television when Katharine McPhee came out.

With her snacktray.

With her great big snacktray. Full of snacks. On the tray.

Her snack-ah. Traaay-ah.

Ayup.

Edited to add: Is Clay Aiken a lesbian?

I tried to change the dressing on Little Filthy’s legs earlier today. The gauze promptly fell down around his ankles, so to speak…and he looked like he was wearing spats. I tried again. Same result. Then Boss came home and put some band-aids on and darned if they aren’t still there. I do not understand it but no one puts on a band-aid as well as Boss. It really is the strangest thing.

In this family, I do the cooking. Boss does the laundry. This is because I would rather wear the clothes she washed than eat the food she cooked. I decided to bake a cake. I made a two layer yellow cake with a milk chocolate frosting. I sliced a piece for Boss. She said, “I think it tastes better when it’s square.” I looked at her. She said, “You know…like, baked in a big pan thing.” I said that yes, I knew what she meant. Then I poured her a glass of milk. I put it on the table in front of her. She said, “Ooo, can I have it in a short glass?” Then she laughed at herself.

Let me explain something about Boss.

She has…quirks. I find them charming as hell because I find them incredibly funny. Everything about her quirks makes me want to laugh…and then blog about it later.

Ahhhhh, love my two rotten eggs.

And cake does not taste different when it’s a square!

does it?

Little Filthy got out the front door and raced down the hall to say hello to Boss when she got home from class and work. He turned around and came racing back toward me at top speed, skidded to a halt and into my arms. We came inside the condo and I noticed that he kept lifting his paws to lick at something. I leaned over and saw red. When he skidded to a halt in the hall, the little pads on his forelegs skinned right off from the carpet and had peeled back. He never even whimpered. I scooped him up into my arms and we went into the bathroom for some quick cleaning and antiseptic and bandaids. Little Filthy sat in my lap with his front legs sticking out while Boss doctored him up. I felt like my toddler just skinned his knees.

LIKE HE SKINNED HIS KNEES CLEAN OFF.

This little guy is going to be the death of me. Little buddy.

leave me alone, attorney. go be busy and let me be sleepybeepy right here.

I have been reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, a book narrated by a fifteen year old boy with autism. I knew nothing about autism until I read this book. He refuses to eat anything yellow or brown, relaxes by moaning, takes everything at face value, etc.

So, I thought about it and I do not think there is any way to deny that Little Filthy must be autistic. Let me walk you through it.

First, he only eats brown things. Morning meal: brown kibble. Evening meal: brown kibble. In-between-snacking: Poo. He cries when he is upset and does not even try to hide it. He is unable to filter out joggers while walking, even when mid-leap-frog. (That is how we refer to what he is doing when he assumes the position, so to speak. He “plays leapfrog.” You get the picture. When he is lifts his leg, I refer to it as “spraying for weeds.”) He is unfailingly sincere.

I’m raising an autistic fecalphiliac with prader-willi.

I got his school pictures back today. He combed down his hair like we reminded him but forgot that his harness was showing.

Earlier this week, Boss called me during the day to tell me that a little boy in her class announced at lunch that, “Ms. Boss has big t*tties in her bra!”

Oh, yes, he did. I could barely stop laughing in my office. Fairly astute young man although some observations are probably best left unspoken.

This was followed up today by a little girl in her class remarking to Boss that, “that was embarrassing…because it was about you.”

Today, a little girl said, “What was he talking about? You have cookies in your boobies?”

Snacktray. See?