Produce, of the fresh variety, is really not all that rare. I mean, does anyone out there really think it is? Turns out, the answer is yes: My Mom.
My mom, bless her little mushroom head and lovely naive heart, does not seem to comprehend that there are grocery stores in Richmond, let alone any locale outside of the baltimore-washington metropolitan area. You'd think, from her actions, that the rest of the world went around hunting and gathering their food nightly- only to use the hides of said food to make coats, hats, and chinchilla shawls. Ahh, Carol.
Anyway... when Betsy and Meredith came down souf to visit me and to take my little Ebbitt away to my mom's house *more on that later*, my mom sent them with BAGS and BAGS of groceries. Like, what? Apparently, I cannot purchase Diet Coke, lettuce, egg beaters, frozen spinach and apples in Richmond. Apparently, my mommy still needs to buy my groceries. Apparently, I'm the only 25-year-old-girl who can't manage the task of locating and buying said groceries. Apparently, I'm not able to do much else for myself besides work, work, work, whine, complain, work, work, and work.
Apparently, molly is in a bad mood.
So yeah- she stocks me up with produce, which is great, and really, how could I dare complain about a loving mother who understands her daughter's demanding work-life and simply wants her to remain nourished? I can't, and I shouldn't, so I won't. Anymore.
And this brings me to Ebbitt. Betsy and Meredith stole him, no joke. Don't let them tell you anything differently. Because they are lying liars and they stole my dog. And all of his clothes, food, toys, and bedding. (yes, he has his own doggie bedding)
Ok, they didn't. But it felt like they did, and from the "water-works" performance I put on when it was time for them to leave, you would have thought they did. Seriously. Having a dog is like having a kid, and having your kid taken away from you -if even for only 3 weeks- is an awfully difficult thing to weather. And I did NOT handle it like a champ. Nope, not one bit.
I cried and carried on like a mad woman... and felt awful. Like the worst person on the planet. THE WORST.
Turns out, Mr. Ebbitt is doing just fine in Baltimore. He goes to work with my mom and is held and petted all day by women with Alzheimer's and Parkinsons... And every now and then, my mom will hear them saying, "Well, aren't you a pretty little dog. But your face is smashed in. I wonder if that hurts?"
After work, Ebbitt is free to run around the back yard, and gets fed at regular intervals, and sleeps in the comfort of a king sized bed. The dog- is fine.
It's just me that misses him... turribly :(
So today, in the mail, I got a package from Ebbitt (natch)... and in it were some apples and apple cider... because, say it with me folks, they OBVIOUSLY don't have produce in Richmond.
The End.
(picture of Judge Samuel "Scalito" Alito, courtesy of The New York Times & Doug Mills)
Well, obviously.
