This morning Jack did this thing where he held his hand out, palm down, about a foot over the bed and Kitty would come put her head under it like he was going to pet her, but he wouldn’t, he’d keep his hand above her head and then move it away and she’d stretch her neck out and walk around the bed to follow his hand wherever he moved it. This went on for about two minutes and finally Jack said, delightedly, “I have a cat magnet in my hand!”
I left a note in my daily planner that says, “All my bras are crap but I get laid anyway.”
On Sunday our New York Times sat out on the lawn in its half-open blue plastic wrapper soaking up a lot of dew, so I called the bastards up and instead of asking them to deliver another paper I said I wanted the $5 unreadable wet paper credit. Then I went into the kitchen and dried the paper out in the oven section by section. And Jack watched all this (while reading the L.A. Times, which I hate and cannot read except for the Hot Property column and the comics) and said, “That is exactly what your dad would do.” Because my dad will go to great lengths to save a buck, and I grew up eating a lot of discount dinners, but I also went to a good college without asking for a dime in student loans because my parents had saved up and paid my tuition in cash, so I can’t really say that much against the habit, except for maybe that if you have a lifelong habit of deferring all your pleasures until later you may find that later never comes and you’re so used to making do that you never learn the difference between the thing in itself is fantastic and it’s great because we got it 30% off. However, when it comes to reading a wrinkly five-dollar paper for free on Sunday morning, I got no problem.