"I write about a fictitious character based on her," is my answer.
"Does she know?"
Shrugging my shoulders as a response, I honestly don't know.
"I almost yelled 'HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY' when I arrived but your windows were shut."
"Well, she is famous but I don't know if she knows she's famous," I explain swinging in the chair on the porch.
It's silent for a moment on a pleasant Saturday afternoon, sitting on the porch ... which is a "Man Cave" where I watch football, M*A*S*H, Historical documentaries and Marvel Movies.
Sarah and the girls are in New York City so I'm home alone ... without adult supervision ... sitting on the porch.
Often Laurel, Sarah's 10 year old, sits with me to talk about life ... "School is boring" ... She likes a boy but they haven't kissed yet ... "I got boobs!" she announces puffing her chest out. "What do you think?"
"They've got something for that," I answer watching football.
"What?" she asks hopefully.
"Clearasil," I answer turning up the game.
Sometimes Maddie, the 13 year old who knows everything without understanding anything, comes down to talk.
"Mike, if I tell you something will you promise to not tell my Mom?"
I turn the football game volume down because this is always good.
"No Maddie," I say, "I love you but I'm not getting in trouble with your Mom. Why don't you tell me what you don't want her to know and ... if you need to tell her ... I'll let you know."
And she tells me.
"Yeah," I say turning the volume of the game back up, "you need to tell your Mom. I'm not getting in trouble over this."
Every once in a while, Cassidy the 8 year old, gets lost appearing on the porch, is frightened and crawls in my lap.
"Do you want to play with me," she sweetly asks, curling in a ball in my lap.
"No," I reply in equal sweetness, "do you want to watch football with me?"
"No," she answers making her way back upstairs as I turn the volume back up.
I love the girls.
They're nutty as fruitcakes ... just like my kids were ...but everything's always interesting because of them.
Who wants a life that's not interesting?
"So she has no idea," Sandi asks on the pleasant Saturday afternoon.
"I have no idea," I say swinging in the chair.
And at that precise moment, Winston The Little Gay Dog pounces on Sandi's husband's crotch.
Dave, who was sleeping through the entire conversation, screams like a Pentecostal slain by the Holy Spirit.
Goddess rolls over and sighs.
"What are you doing today?" Dedra asks ... who's been remarkably silent throughout this conversation.
"Watching football," I tell them.
They immediately leave.
I turn up the volume.
And wish the girls were home.
