My Cat Kneads Me

Today I ventured to Target to get a folding potty seat. I have started potty-training my two-year-old daughter and I have already come to realize that I'm actually training myself. Despite what you'll hear from parents from previous generations who did not deal with the space-age absorption materials used in today's disposable diapers, changing diapers is easier. Besides, it's always difficult to change any routine you've gotten used to doing.

So off I headed to get my supplies. Now in a funny Pavlovian way, Kate knows that the Pizza Hut Express at Target is a regular part of the trip and heads there automatically. She's the walking incarnation of my taste buds.

I grab a personal pan pizza and head to the cashier, a middle-aged man I've seen there before.

"Just the pizza, a kid's Icee, and a small drink," I say, still proud of my New Year's willpower enabling me to resist grabbing some breadsticks for myself.

He tells me the total, I hand him the money, and I smile. I don't exactly know why and it's more of a reaction than anything. I don't realize I'm smiling until he smiles back.

"Wow, you're always smiling!" he says. I could feel myself thinking and blushing at the same time.

"Why not?" I say, a phrase giddy enough to start a big song-and-dance number in any musical I've seen. But it's true.

"You're totally right," he says as he smiles and giggles a little bit. Now I know why I'm smiling: I'm happy that I was able to make him smile.

So Kate and I sit down. Across from us sits an older woman reading a romance novel. She's noshing away on her pizza while wearing a sweatshirt that reads:
MY CAT KNEADS ME
I smile at the thought and wonder what kind of steamy words she's devouring along with her lunch. Loins has to be one of them. I also wonder how many people are kneaded by their cats that there would be a market for those shirts, but I let the thought float away like most of my other useless thoughts.

So there I sit underneath the bright florescent lights sipping my Diet Coke, observing others. Then my eyes fix on my daughter sitting across from me. She's happily squirming in her seat and her face is covered with sauce. She lifts her eyes from the pizza and looks at me. Then she smiles and giggles a little bit. I'm happy that I was able to make her smile. And I realize that at that moment, a small table with swiveling chairs at the entrance to Target is the best place in the world to be.

Laundromat Heaven

A few weeks ago I decided to change the comforter on our bed to my big, white, fluffy one--the one that doesn't fit in my washing machine. I grabbed the comforter and some detergent and headed to a new Magtag Laundromat* I had just discovered a few weeks before. I hadn't been in a Laundromat since my college days--a dim, dirty whole-in-the-wall place filled with grumpy people dressed in sweat pants and/or the last clean remnants of their closets.

I walked in after large automatic doors opened, as if I was entering a posh store. Inside were dozens of shiny new white machines illuminated by bright lights. There were huge LCD TVs hanging from the ceiling. There were benches, tables, and snack machines. There were smiling, happy people. Wow. Laundry heaven. I stood there, mouth agape, trying to figure out where to go when a guy walked up to me.

"First time here?" he asked.

"Ummm...yes."

"I could always tell. Whattya got there?" He peeked inside my laundry basket.

"Just a comforter," I said feeling somewhat inadequate for bringing such a humble load of clothes to such a nice Laundromat.

"Well, then use this one," he said while leading me to a washing machine. "It's large enough for that. Let me know if you need anything!" He smiled. What kind of Laundromat is this? I wondered. I would have had cleaner clothes in college if I had a place like this to go.

So I wandered over to the quarter machine by following the signs and got change. I came back and put $5 in the machine. Seemed pretty expensive, but Laundry God said I should use this machine and not the hundreds of other ones, so...

I put it in and pressed the button. A little window told me the cycle would take 19 minutes. Wow. Washing machines have come a long way since my college days. So I hung out for a while. I sat on a nearby bench for 11 minutes.

Then I noticed something in the washing machine window. I walked over and looked closely at my comforter. A dark stripe periodically flashed through the suds and water and it dawned on me: this wasn't the comforter I wanted to wash. I squatted where I was, looking into the window, trying to think of where I put the right comforter.

"WHAT'S SO INTERESTING?"

I looked up to see Laundry God's head surrounded by bright light. (Did I mention the Laundromat had nice lighting?) Then he laughed and laughed while a Laundry Apostle stood next to him. She laughed, too.

I realized how stupid I must have looked, mesmerized by spinning laundry like a cat following yarn.

"It's the wrong comforter," I tried to explain rattling off what seemed like random words in an attempt to appease Laundry God. "Stripe. Closet. White. Hurry. Wash."

So I returned with the right comforter the following day. No longer was I laundromat virgin. I walked in with purpose. (TVs? What TVs?) I knew where the change machine was and I headed right for it. I chose a different washing machine, not the anointed one--just because I could, so there--and put in my clothes. I smirked with confidence as I looked around for Laundry God. I needed to show him I knew how to wash laundry in his little Laundromat and that I didn't need his help. He obviously wouldn't have noticed me this time since I knew what I was doing...

Damn.

I forgot detergent.







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*Side note: Laundromat is always capitalized. When I worked as a copyeditor, I remember researching why it's capitalized (I thought it was a generic term and I think it looks stupid capitalized). The story is that it became a Copyright in the 1950's. Just thought I'd mention that.

Another American Friendship is Destroyed

Christmas is the Christian version of the Super Bowl. It's a time for fans to annoyingly brag and believe that they are the best and the only ones who matter. And if you don't like football, the painted faces and thrust index fingers exclaiming #1 are horribly aggravating. Most of the Christians I know keep their beliefs to themselves, but some like to remind me every chance they get of what their beliefs are and it has annoyed me for years. I try not to do that because I have a lot of respect for various beliefs, but I chose for once not to hide my lack of beliefs.

I should know better. I should know not to expect the same respect that I give to others regarding religious tolerance. I receive emails and forwards that explicitly speak of something I don't believe in, but I politely ignore them.

I sent a "Christmas Survey" out to a lot of my friends. I didn't stop to think of who I was sending it to, but judging by the responses I got to the following question, I should have eliminated those with a brain too small to understand my answer:

Question: Do you have a nativity scene?

My Answer: No. I don't celebrate Christmas that way because I'm not religious. I celebrate Christmas as a time to show the people in your life that you love and appreciate them and to see the peace that's possible in the world, no matter what your beliefs are.

I guess my all-should-respect-others hippie thinking when it comes to religion is a lot to ask for. My point was that no matter what you believe in or don't believe in, you should be able to do so without persecution. Silly me! After all, why should we respect others? Why should we think that there could be more than one way to look at things?

I'm glad she showed me what a true friend is...and why she shouldn't be considered my friend any longer.

There's nothing like a little anger and hate to remind you of the real reason for the season... ;)