Willow Tree

Bodily Functions

Yesterday, last night really, I was to have a book trade party at my house; everyone come, bring one's unwanted books, and take home new unread novels.
I had quite a stack of my own books that needed new homes, and I was quite sure
other's also had books in search of new readers.

So I had everything ready, warning the lMonkey that she must remain quiet and well behaved upstairs, a treat for following instructions.

I set out two tablefuls of books; organized by genre, set out some coffee and tea, and a bit of dried fruit. And I prepared the kitchen to hold the four legged member of the family, just in case others who came were not as enamored of him as I was.

And this led to the first disaster. Inadvertantly, and without my awarness, a bottle of oil had fallen, developed a crack, and was oozing out its precious wealth onto the floor behind my cabinest (originally bookshelves, now holding my dishes).

The dog found it first; sniffing, as he has a wont to do, to find whatever of the good stuff we may not have put away and out of his reach, he discovered this unexpected bounty and began to lap it up.

My question to him (which, no I really didn't expect to be answered) "what are you into" turned into a groan as I realized the amount of oil which was now coating the floor. All that work and...

Oil, dog, bowel system. Really, must it be spelled out? And people coming, hopefully, in 1 hrs time!

GROAN!!!

So I wipe up the mess, and wipe up the mess, and wipe up the mess. Oil is a demon when it comes to being cleaned up; it much prefers to remain where it is, indolent upon whatever surfaces it has reached. 1/2 a roll of towels and a soap and water bath take care of it though and of course the dog wants out.

Knew it.

Three times in 1/2 hr.

This does not bode well!

The bowel-challengeddog gets locked in the kitchen. A blanket gets tossed in, along with a prayer that any whining he does may indicate his saddness to part from the company of others and not a great and unavoidably (no pun intended!) need being answered all over the kitchen floor.

I go sit on the couch, and grabbed Sophies choice, which will be entered into next months book trade. And I wait. And I wait.

And the first person shows up, takes a copule of books, we talk, and then the Monkey wants tucking in.

Hey, she was quiet for a whole 1/2hr; this is good behaviour!

And then I wait, and wait, and wait, and someone else comes, takes a few books, we smooze, and another two visitors, mom and daughter.

That's it folks.

So my friends and I are talking, discussing options for pulling in tons of money and becoming multimillionaires from whatever enterprise we finally enter into when the Monkey comes round the corner from upstairs, and starts down.

No disobedience here, the child is asleep. I try and direct her to the bathroom, but she isn't moving; maybe she doesn't have to go but is attracted by the noise?
I pick her up and get a kiss, her arms almost limp about me, and carry her over to the computer where I was trying to pull something up to make a point in my discussion, when I feel this twitch.

Yep; Niagra Falls here, "she's peeing" I announce rather needlessly as a flood rushes down through my hands, over my skirt and a flood develops at my feet.

"She sure is!" one of my friends concurrs, adding that amazement that I am so unfazed about the incident.

Hmm, I wonder if I could put that particular skill on my resume?

I clean her up, tuck her onto the couch (she is still quite asleep and will not I remember this in the morning), and clean the floor and myself, and luckily, since both women are friends, conduct the rest of the meeting in a robe.

Such was my evening.

Anyone for a book?
(the kitchen flor was fine for those that were worried.)

Posted by Rachel Ann at January 26, 2005 08:24 AM