Dear Diary and Friends,
This past month has had me sitting on the side lines when it comes to participation in the family blog.
While everyone's sweetheart, Princess Dori, hogged Mom's attention to find a stinky, squished scrap of foil known by the saccharine-sweet name of Dolly Meow, I was left twiddling my non-opposable thumbs waiting for my Momanager to take dictation for my blog column.
How am I supposed to record my inner thoughts and desires when I can't type, text, or use a pen, and Meow-to-Text has yet to be invented?
Anyway, when Dolly Meow was found by Dori herself on Easter Sunday, Mom proclaimed it a Miracle but I'm suspicious that Dori deliberately hid her toy in order to keep Mom's attention focused on her, and not on me. Not that I'm needy or a weenie, but I have a softer side that occasionally needs cuddling.
When Mom finally shook the pixie dust from her brain, she rushed to comfort me, begging for my forgiveness. And, of course, she insisted I dictate my latest diary entries, as follows:
Thursday, April 7thSpent the day watching Mom try her best at decorating Casa Wonderpurr for the summer. Sadly, she has about as much flair for interior decorating as Roseanne or Peg Bundy.
I finally sent her to Hobby Lobby with a list of tropical-themed items and took over the job upon her return. Dadders was impressed by my skillz. Says I may have a future as a "Fixer Upper" purrsonality.
I will admit that sticking a few silk flowers and sweet potato vines in nooks and crannies takes little imagination. For years fake plants have been regarded by Professionals as the horticultural equivalent of a plastic-wrapped couch. However, faux plants have recently shed their tacky reputation and are finding their way back into decorator's good graces, but only if you spend a little money on the high-end variety. Then you can refer to them as Faux instead of Fake.
Honestly, I didn't even bite his tail... although resisting that temptation should get me points with Saint Francis when I eventually cross the Rainbow Bridge.
The thing is, Opie's a whiney momma's boy with a punching bag-type personality the equivalent of Alan Harper on Two and a Half Men or Buster Bluth on Arrested Development, or <snickers> Jerry Gergich on Parks and Recreation.
I have tried to hang out with the guy, but whenever I walk into a room, he immediately starts crying for Mom. Sorry, but after spending four years with him, all I can say is, I'm here to entertain you, and part of comedy is suffering.
Tuesday, April 26th
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