The kittens were crazy this weekend. They were fighting on top on me while I was reading in bed, so I crumpled up my library receipt and threw it. I watched smugly as they scampered after it, and turned out the light. Five minutes later the paper wad returned. I thought their dog-like ability to fetch was charming earlier, but I was not amused during the next half hour, when Cadbury eagerly deposited the soggy wad by my pillow and I tried in vain to throw it further and further away. I hid it under my pillow only to have Cadbury crawl all over my head seeking it out. Defeated, I fled to the guest room.
I keep thinking that guys are checking me out, but then I remember the bandages on my face.* And while I think they’re checking me out, I’m not thinking to myself, Yeah, that’s right, I’m thinking Is he thinking about stealing my purse? or Does this guy think I’m trying to be suggestive by bending over when I’m really trying to read the bottom row of titles in the travels essays section?
* I saved the explanation for last, because it’s really lame: I had some moles removed. Mmm... attractive. As they were snipping away I wondered, What do they do with those little bits that they remove? Toss them into the trash? Put them into neat little biohazard bags? I know now that they probably incinerate them... but what about the person who has that job? I once knew someone whose job it was to take the turkeys off the truck and toss them into the killing chute. That’s so good it deserves to be in a novel.
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