Do you ever have one of those days you just don't want to do? A day when there's nothing particularly wrong. No body part less functional than usual. No lack of sleep causing eye bags so large they exceed the size for carry-on luggage. No mental or physical malady to warrant a day under the covers. Just a day when you partially open one matted eyelid long enough to confirm the sun arose and you don't want to follow its lead.
Today is one of those days for me. I awoke (thankfully) with my face burrowed in the soft wavy fur of my beloved old pup, Baxter. Stretched from here to yonder, Bax has a way of making a bed -- or rug, cold tile or gravel pit -- look like the most comfortable place in the world to fall into a coma. As I snuggle tighter, he stretches, yawns and smacks his gums, pondering breakfast vittles.
"We worked late last night, darlin,'" I coo to him. "So how 'bout we start our day slowly, OK?"
Bax offers no objections. After a few more stretches, our feet find their way to the floor and into the kitchen.
My favorite form of exercise is chewing, so I'm not conscious long each day before the refrigerator door opens, and my furry menagerie and I survey its contents. Because we're puttering this morning, I pull out all the stops and make a nice breakfast for us.
With everyone fed and pottied, I settle in with a fresh cup of tea and my morning's reading, nestled in my robe and savoring the slow start.
Ding dong. Ding dong.
Baxter comes unhinged. Barking feverishly, he hurls himself toward the door. I aim to ignore it.
Ding dong. Bang. Bang. Bang.
Oh, for Pete's sake. With hair racked and sans makeup, I head to the door to see a fella in an official uniform.
"Ma'am, I'm with the gas company, and the construction folks next door hit a gas line. We need you to evacuate the premises."
I glance around for the Candid Camera crew. Peter Funt doesn't flinch.
"Seriously?" I ask. Police and fire trucks begin to arrive.
"Yes, ma'am, it's just a precaution, but we're asking everyone in the immediate area to leave. We'll let you know when it's safe to return."
I throw my critters, book, toiletry bag and mess of myself into the truck. Because home and office are 27 steps apart, going to the office isn't a viable option. So I drive to the first place I can think of where there's peace and quiet a few blocks from home.
If you've never applied makeup in the rearview mirror of a truck cab with two rabbits, two cats and one dog while parked in your pajamas in the city cemetery, I encourage you to give it a go. I was pert near sure this day was trouble, but I never saw that coming.
NAN Our Town on 04/05/2018