Ol’ Yeller

“My mom is being STRICT,” sighs Sophie on the stairs, into the phone. It’s her pal Merrie, reminding Sophie that we are dogsitting for them tomorrow.

I hear Sophie pause, then say matter-of-factly, “No, she would yell at you too right now.”

I would. I yell a lot. I am an equal-opportunity yeller. Now I yell, “GET OFF THE PHONE! IT’S BEDTIME AND WE KNOW HOW MOMMY FEELS ABOUT BEDTIME! I ALREADY KNOW ABOUT LINDEN! YOU’LL WAKE UP YOUR SISTER!”

It is a miracle I do not wake up her sister. (I am aware of my follies as they occur. I am just cutting myself some slack this week.)

Sophie sighs again, now in my bedroom. I hear her retinas detaching from all the eye-rolling she is doing as she hangs up the phone.

She returns to her room, where I am sprawled face-flat on the bed. “You know,” she says, amused, “I told Merrie you would yell at her too. You would, right?”

I say, into her pillow, “OF COURSE. I YELL AT EVERYONE AT BEDTIME. DON’T TAKE IT PERSONALLY.”

She says, “You don’t HAVE to yell, you know.”

I lift my head. “Really? Try asking me for something. Pretend you need something and you need it quick. You’re desperate.”

She is always up for a good roleplay, particularly if it involves her being able to use her newfound Cockney accent (if I could explain it it you, I would, but I can only offer past-life regression as a possible cause).

“MUMMY, WHEEAH ‘AV YOOH BEEEN? OY MOOST HAF A BAHN-DAID! OYM BLEEDIN’!”

I lick the wall. I stare at the ceiling. I hum quietly and chew my knuckles.

This delights her immensely.

“MUMMY! WHA’ AH YOOH DOEEEN? OY! NAID! AH! BAHN-DAID!”

Now she sounds like Shrek, but I don’t have the heart to tell her. I just pretend my toes are very, very interesting.

She cracks up.

“See?” I say. “Tell me that wouldn’t drive you crazy at bedtime every night. I wouldn’t have to yell IF PEOPLE CHOSE TO LISTEN TO ME AND JUST PEE, POOP, WASH HANDS, WASH FACES, DRY FACES AND BRUSH TEETH WHEN I ASKED. I would LOVE not to yell. I am TIRED of yelling. I am VERY VERY VERY TIRED IN GENERAL.”

“You’re yelling again,” she points out, helpfully.

“I KNOW,” I yell. “KEEP YOUR VOICE DOWN.”

Someone just found my blog after Googling “doing laundry after someone had scabbies.” I FEEL UNCLEAN. UNCLEAN PEOPLE NEED TO YELL, TO TAKE THE EDGE OFF. AT LEAST THEY COULD HAVE SPELLED ‘SCABIES’ CORRECTLY, FER CHRISSAKES.

I can’t help it. It’s all going to yelling hell in an uncleaned handbag lousy with scabies. The summer foliage is closing in on us and I’m getting panicky. Dog poo hides insidiously under a tropical maple rainforest. Saplings everywhere. Our backyard wants to be a maple forest when it grows up. At least someone around here has some aspirations.

Our backyard is ignoring the fact that THIS PROPERTY HAS BEEN INHABITED BY NON-MAPLE BIPEDS SINCE 1901. I don’t know how to work the damn lawnmower yet, weed whackers scare me, and the house needs a serious Brazilian wax. I want to be the nice tidy thing in the center of all that…well, you get the picture. BUT NO, right now we are letting it ALL hang out and I am considering buying a truck full of mulch and spending the weekend dumping it on top of anything green. That, or buying some serious epoxy cement and smothering the grass altogether. I HAVE REASONS TO YELL, IS WHAT I’M SAYING.

WHAT DO YOU YELL ABOUT? DOES ANYONE EVEN NOTICE ANYMORE?

HEY! I’M TALKING TO YOU!

I got back from a really great trip to California on Monday morning, a red-eye that led to brown-eye from the amount of coffee I poured into my body to drive home from the airport.

THEY HAVE SMOOTH PALM TREES AND CALM, CONTROLLED CONCRETE THERE IN CALI.

EVERYTHING ELSE IN CALI HAS ALREADY BEEN BIKINI-WAXED. You have to believe me on this.

BABIES AND KITTIES AND PUPPIES ARE BORN BIKINI-WAXED IN CALI. I’m not kidding. EVEN THE WIND HAS HAD A BIKINI WAX. MINIVANS HAVE HAD BIKINI WAXES. THE ZOO ANIMALS GET REGULAR BIKINI WAXES.

THERE ARE NO WEEDS IN CALI. FRUIT AND SUSHI FALL OFF THE TREES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW UNNATURAL AND WONDERFUL AND RELAXING THAT IS?

I am FEELING A LITTLE OVERWHELMED back at home, MY PEEPS. Home is where the yelling is. Please mow my lawn. Somebody. Anybody. WHA’ AH YOOH DOEEEN TAH-MORRAH? AH! NEED! AH! GAHD-NER!