Put nothing in your pipe and do not smoke it

On Saturday, our dog Paul had a good and proper freakout, following us around and hiding under Dave’s legs (which is not common) and then at one point shaking so hard I was on the verge of taking him to the emergency vet. As I tried to leash him, though, he started jumping up into the air, head-high. (HUMAN HEAD.) And then he ran around the block super fast a few times (with me), and seemed fine. The only ongoing issue being that he didn’t want to stay in the house, and kept trying to herd us out of it.

So, THAT’S not creepy.

We didn’t blow up, and we didn’t find any snakes, and eventually Paul chilled out, but I was still shaken by whatever traumatic ghost ship had just passed us by. “What if I’m in a different dimension, and you’re the wrong Dave?” I asked. “I’m the only Dave you’ve got,” Dave replied. True enough, in any case.

Then, on Monday, some guys in a couple of unmarked trucks came and dug in the street near our house, and when they eventually got rained out I noticed they’d left a sign hanging off one of our trees. Aha, I thought. Answers at last. The sign simply said: NO SMOKING.

So, THAT’S not creepy, either.

After lodging a formal complaint about the inexplicable-but-harrowing signage, I found out the gas company is going to replace a few blocks worth of pipe in our neighborhood, meaning I get to see random dudes un-pave our newly-paved road and tromp through my yard at least until we leave for Christmas. And I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t even have informed me about the construction if I hadn’t called to ask What The Hell.

So. Hooray?


Quick reminder: if you’re looking for a gift, why not give several copies of The Daughters to everyone on your list, and tie those copies together with a bow, so they look kind of like a Jacob’s Ladder made out of books?