Random Esquire

My 8 year old daughter’s buddy – lets call him ‘Matt’ – was over the other day.

Matt is 9 and a neighbor and my daughter’s best friend (not that she would admit this in a million years, he is a boy after all). Daughter and Matt were goofing around and decided to play ‘dog‘. By that I mean that Matt pretended to be a dog and Daughter pretended to be his owner.

I was in an adjacent room, paying very little attention because that is the kind of attentive parent I am. Then, I hear Daughter speaking with an English accent – quite a decent one at that.

She is saying stuff like ‘Now you be a good doggy or I shall have to become more strict‘ and ‘You are being a very, very bad boy‘ and ‘If you keep being naughty, I shall have to punish you.  BAD doggy‘ and he is making sad puppy noises.

I decided to take a closer look (what with being supermom and all) and there is Daughter, holding the end of a piece of twine as a leash, with the other end forming a ‘collar’ around Matt’s neck.  Matt is on all fours, seemingly content with his role in this little drama. It was reminiscent of – well things I felt I shouldn’t be thinking of.  Later, I was recounting the story to my husband, telling him how Daughter was pretending to be a British dog owner.

Daughter overheard and jumped in to correct me: “Mom – I wasn’t a dog OWNER.  I was a dog TRAINER.  Because Matt was a very, very bad dog and needed a lot of training.”

Well that really put any doubts to rest.

My little one is practicing to be a dominatrix.

And a rather good one too – the next day she played over at Matt’s house and came home sporting a shiny new pedicure.

She proudly told me Matt had polished her toes.

11:30 a.m.  sunshine. sleep with blanket.

1:30 p.m. move with sun to couch.  take blanket with.

2:00 p.m.  fell asleep mid-stretch.

3:00 p.m.  something on paw.

3:10 p.m.  nope. back to sleep.

I woke up this morning and thought, “I want to play guitar.”

It isn’t the first time I’ve had this thought.  My sister and I grew up playing multiple musical instruments but I’d never learned how to play the guitar.

At 10:20, I called up Buddy who has played for years and said “I want.”  Response: “Go get.”

By 11:30, I had purchased a guitar, case, strings, music, tuner, picks, etc.

By 1:30, I wished for callouses on my fingers.

I sent a picture of my red-lined, string molded, throbbing fingers to Buddy.

The response?

“Poor you.”

Bastard.

I walked into Instigator’s office today and when she looked up from her computer at me, I paused.

She was wearing lipstick.

See, Instigator usually puts on lipstick after I walk into the office.  She puts on lipstick for me.  What’s the point of having a work girlfriend who doesn’t wear lipstick for you?   I recalled seeing a large group of people in one of our conference room and quickly deduced that they were her people and that she was wearing lipstick for them.

I said, “Those your people?”  She nodded.  I made a circular motion with a hand indicating her face and said, “I just want you to know that I know this wasn’t for me.”

She ignored me.

Churro joined the conversation with me and Instigator.  The three of us were discussing something when Fresh Express wandered in.

I am ashamed to say that it was…. how shall I say this,…  it was pointedly obvious that Fresh Express was not wearing a bra.  I attempted to go cross-eyed rather than endure.

Afer she left the room, I sighed and said, “Could she please wear a bra?!”

Instigator looked at me and said, “Could she please wear some shoes!”

I gaped. I hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t been wearing shoes, for God’s sake.  I’m pretty sure that if  Denny’s would refuse you service based upon your level of dress or undress, then certainly it is not appropriate for the office, no?

Churro chimed in that yes, in fact, Fresh Express was walking around in a pair of socks that were “fucking filthy”.  Sure enough, I noticed them later.  They were purple Donny Osmond socks, my friends.  And they were black on the bottom.

I’ve mentioned that Fresh Express once washed her socks in an office coffee pot, right?

See, this is why you don’t drink office coffee.  It could just as likely be Fresh Express Sock Dirt colored water.

Unacceptable.

1.  I found Little Filthy with his front paws straddling the toilet, face down into the bowl.  I would have scolded him but having felt rather the same way, I just pulled him out the skipped the lecture.

2.   Buddy had a rough day trying for the fourth time to set up a bank account.  Here’s how it went:

Buddy:  I went to the bank to set up an account and the lady did it wrong FOUR times.

Not good for my blood pressure.
But the lady had nice hands.
So.
There was that.

RandomEsq:  Those must have been some really nice hands.

Buddy:  I admired them.  Four times.

RandomEsq:  Nice.

Buddy:  If she had been a troll, I would have thrown a fit.

I know, it’s awful.
But that’s the kind of day it’s been.
So who cares?

3.  You know what sucks?  When you can’t decide which you’d like more: a drink or a cigarette.

Especially when you aren’t a big drinker and when you’ve quit smoking.

4.  I’ve been trying my hand at tilt-shift photography – it tends to make things look like they are miniatures.  Here’s a picture from Venice, one from Chicago and an eyeball.

Dear Pink,

I love you.

Like,

for serial.

-R.