2004-09-25 - 9:56 a.m.

Serial Killers and Thieving Dogs

With limited clean laundry options I finally settled on my Slut Serial Killer t-shirt written in a scripty font on the front of it. I was only taking Gavin for a walk through the neighborhood� the wording was in an almost illegible script font� I should be safe� as long as Shirtless Guy wasn't out, that is. I didn't want him imagining for a second that perhaps we had something in common. I wouldn't go past his house then. Of course as soon as I stepped outside into the garage to put Gavin in his stroller � the repair guy from SEARS pulled up in the driveway to pick up the 26 extra stove control panels that were sent by their cheery "PARTS!" department -- on another unrelated call to them. Maybe one of my AGITATED responses sounded like, "veintis�is" ("26" in Spanish) Only needed one! But thanks anyway! He was an older guy. I gave him the collection of boxes stacked up against the wall and then he started some small talk about my car. Things were going as normal as could be until I watched him glance down at my chest. Either he was awestruck at the sight of my voluptuous bosom or he didn't quite know what to make of the message on my shirt. I'm inclined to believe that it was the latter. He quickly brought all conversation to a close and hurried off into his truck. "Say buh-bye," I prompted the baby to the van's squealing tires at the end of the driveway. Repair Man was too busy calling Child Protective Services to wave back. "But Officer!! It�s JUST a t-shirt!!!" Fifteen minutes into the walk, as if on cue, a squad car came into view. I smiled to myself thinking, "WHAT IF!!???" While he passed by, we exchanged courteous nods and waves. I deduced that my shirt's decorative scripty cursive was not legible from a moving squad car. Otherwise I most certainly would have been listening to the Miranda warning while my hands were being cuffed behind my back - charges pending. So we continued our walk, Gavin and I.

Much to the baby's delight the cute little horny, unneutered male beagle that roams the neighborhood impregnating everything in sight joined us. He's a nice dog, except for when there is another four-legged animal around - gender not being important. He followed us home, so I ran inside real quick to get a ball so we could play "fetch" with the doggy! How fun for a little boy, and for a doggy! A Norman Rockwell-esque image formed in a cloud above my head, a baby giggling at the doggy running back to him with a ball in his mouth, set to the peaceful sound of the late afternoon birds. After a quick search through the house I finally found the perfect ball. Oh, this was going to be SO FUN!! I skipped outside, ball in hand and tossed it across the yard for the doggy to fetch. "Look Gavin! The doggy is going to get the ball!" I exclaimed. The beagle ran across the yard, secured the ball in his jaws and took off down the street like his unneutered balls were on fire! I stood there dumbfounded. I could almost hear him saying in a little Italian accent, "Heya� thanks for the fockin' ball, Toots." I was pissed, but couldn't stop laughing. This couldn't have been further from what I had expected. Off we went, back down the street to Horny Beagle's house to try and get our ball back. Gavin wasn't quite sure what the heck was going on, but sat upright in his stroller anxiously awaiting to see what else Mommy had up the sleeve of her serial killer t-shirt. Upon arrival at the dog's house we saw him happily chewing the ball to pieces out in his backyard. I debated whether or not to authorize a rescue mission, but quickly decided against it. These people would look out into their backyard and see some disheveled woman chasing their dog around their backyard. "Slut � something� killer� I can�t read it� she's running too fast�" and then they'd look out into the front yard and see my poor son sitting in his stroller seemingly abandoned on the side of the road staring in confusion at his surroundings sans mother. "What's the number to Child Protective Services?!!"

"Looks like that's the doggy's ball now," I gently explained to Gavin � and to myself.

the past - the future

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