Goddess is entertaining three little girls in the back yard. They are taking turns throwing her a tennis ball and she is running after it and bringing it back to them.
In their pajamas, they are all screaming "GO GODDESS! GO GODDESS! GO GODDESS!"
Winston, the little gay dog, cannot stand not being the center of attention so he runs out and growls at Goddess, who is a dope smoking pacifist. She lays down, looking up at me sitting on the beloved back deck with her soft golden eyes.
Long ago, we learned to communicate without speaking.
She is saying to me, "WTF?"
Last night, eight six year old girls spent the night.
I drank heavily.
One of the girls just stepped in dog poop and is demanding to know why I don't clean it up.
Staring at her, I sip my screwdriver as she places the paper towel full of dog shit on the table I'm sitting at as I write.
It's a bit chilly so I'm curious as to why they're out here with me. Maddie, who is eleven, is drowning out the girls by blasting reruns of GLEE on the television. The three little girls who are with me are apparently not fans of GLEE.
All this little episode of domestic bliss needs is my next door neighbor, the Cat Lady, to stumble outside in her pink bath robe and the blue towel on her head looking like Marge Simpson on meth, screeching, "HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!"
Wait.
I spoke too soon.
Now two of the girls are chasing Winston, the gay little dog, who is scared shitless.
Looking at me with his evil dark eyes I know what he's thinking ... "WTF?"
Sipping my screwdriver and praying more than I've ever prayed in my life ... along with Goddess and Winston, the little gay dog, ... we're all asking God the same thing at the same time.
WTF?
