Tuesday, August 15, 2006

Phoe-be Phone Home?

I wake up this morning at 6:30 and am instantly pissed at the world.   Really.  It's just one of those mornings where, if I turned on the news and found out that aliens had invaded, I'd probably just roll over and go back to sleep.  But, alas, I have to "work" for a living so I got up, took a shower, washed my hair (which had morphed into a halfl-curly, half-Medusa-ish look throughout the night) and sat down in the middle of my carpeted (ew.) bathroom floor.  

I pulled out my 1875 watt blow-yer-head-off hairdryer (with turbo action) and started the task of drying 25 pounds of hard to manage hair.   Thanks to Conair  - thirty minutes later my folicles are dry - and standing on end.  Which compliments the dark bags under my eyes rather superbly.  

I decide to combat the fatigue with a tall glass of Cherry Coke.  Yum. And a muffin which I made from scratch two days ago (I think it's still on my counter - I forgot to eat it!).  

Coming back to the bathroom, I hurdle the sleeping fluffy hulk of a cat and sit back down in the floor.  

"Hey! Where's my phone?"  I'm panicked.  Without my pink phone  - Harry can't get a hold of me from Texas.  Which then panicks him.  Which results in my parents having to rush to my house to "make sure I'm okay."  No lie.  He freaks all the hell out.   Which is cute in a "you're my whole world" kinda way - I can dig it. :)

I look under the towel, under my ass (it's rather large and I can sit on things and not even know it-  and I can't believe I just admitted that to the general public - oh well!) and under my discarded pj's.

No phone. 

I looked at Phoebe.   Was it possible that she - sat on it?

I gently grabbed each of her legs, gathered them up in a quasi-hog-tie and rolled her over.  She purred and her eyes closed to slits as I manhandled her.  Freak.  :)

No phone.

Hopping up, careful to avoid the flaming hot curling iron and the mess of cords from straighteners, two hair dryers and another, fatter curling iron, I make my way into the bedroom.  Shoveling off piles of papers and receipts, I finally located my never-used home phone. 

I dial my cell.  

I hear muffled ringing.

Rushing into the bathroom - Phoebe is looking around in alarmas Michael Buble continues to sing "Home."

She was sitting on it the whole time!

I laughed and shoved her with my toe. 

"I guess we both have fluffy butt, issues, huh, Phoebes?"  I said and shoved her with my big toe.   She purred and hiked up a leg.  

Like mother, like daughter!


geminisolox said...

Your journal is just so funny, I adore your writing style.  It has me in fits each time.  Keep up the good work!  Gem in the UK x

dpoem said...

Umm...  You might want to check the next bill.  Phoebe was probably calling the local pet shops looking for a little phone-sex action from some Tabby named Gus or Mortimer.  

P.S.  How's that book coming along?  (hehehe...  You hates me buckets, don't cha?).

pippa1116 said...

I have fluffy butt issues also.  tina

princesssaurora said...

Aww... poor Phoebe.  I have fluffy butt too...

be well,

ps... come visit again...my blog misses you...

therealslimemmy said...

glad you found your phone!
i always have to call mine to find it too
i want a  purple one :(
maybe next one
<3, emily