Creaky Eye

I was in the bathroom, washing off my eye makeup. While rinsing it off with a wet cotton round (makes me want to say “round what?”), my eye started creaking. Sort of like an old wooden rocking chair. Or floor in a house built in 1898. I stopped, looked at my eye, and did it again. It still creaked.

my eyesSo I promptly interrupted Zach’s online video gaming, making him remove his headphones and turn off his monitor, lest I see his highly secret game, and ask him to listen. I put my face down near his ear and rub my eye with the cotton again. It creaks again and yes, he can definitely hear it. He asked what it was and I said, “It’s my eye. It sounds like an old rocking chair.”

Then I said, “You’re welcome,” as I left his room.

This might have something to do with why my son thinks I’m weird.

Lassie, Come Home

Somehow my sister had the misfortune of being called Lassie when she was younger. Only by Mom and me. I think. It was her lovely, blonde, Farrah Fawcett hair, I suppose, which prompted thoughts of Lassie’s lovely, blonde, flowing hair, er… fur. It was all in fun, anyway. Not like we thought of my sister as a brave, brilliant dog, or anything. Cause we didn’t. And she’s not. A dog, that is.

In the fourth season, after the Millers acted as a foster family for a seven-year-old named Timmy for the summer, Gramps passed away. Ellen needed to be in the city where she could give music lessons and Jeff could attend high school. Knowing the city was no place for a big dog who was used to running free, Jeff left Lassie with Timmy. Courtesy of lassieweb.org

In the fourth season, after the Millers acted as a foster family for a seven-year-old named Timmy for the summer, Gramps passed away. Ellen needed to be in the city where she could give music lessons and Jeff could attend high school. Knowing the city was no place for a big dog who was used to running free, Jeff left Lassie with Timmy. Courtesy of lassieweb.org

One day she was at a friend’s house (we’ll call her Betsy*) and it would seem her friend knew about the Lassie moniker, because I called  Betsy’s house and a female voice answered. The female voice sounded like Betsy, so the following conversation ensued:

Me: Is Lassie there?

Allegedly Betsy: Who?

Me: Lassie

Supposedly Betsy: Cassie?

Me: No. Lassie.

Maybe Betsy: Who?

Me (realizing that perhaps this is NOT Betsy after all): Um, is Susan** there?

Not Betsy: Uh, yes, just a moment.

Fortunately for me we did not have Skype or FaceTime or any other such video phone devices since it was back in the dark ages and all. How incredibly embarrassing and ridiculous I sounded while speaking to Betsy’s mother who did not know that my sister was nicknamed after a dog.

 

* name changed to protect the innocent.

** name not changed as that’s my actual sister’s actual name, not her dog name.