I sit in the corner of the couch that I've appropriated since I came home from the hospital. (I've appropriated mainly the corner. But, yes, occasionally, I do, I admit it freely, I sometimes appropriate the entire couch.) Naps are a beautiful thing and now I've every excuse to take them. "Franny, have you taken your nap today?""Well, of course you're tired. You didn't nap today."C'mon y'all, keep it coming... It has become a real conversation piece in the Sleeper/Lipman household. It is an improvement over the discussions about gastroenterological issues which had been a family favorite for years on end. We always wanted to find out how much we'd have to give to Penn to get a small plaque on one of the bathroom stalls: "The Lipman Lavatory." (Still on the "To Do List.") There's only one source of contention with regard to the couch. Everyone has graciously relinquished that corner (my corner) except for one large cat.
When I got home from the hospital, I was all sticks and atrophied muscles. I had no idea that skin pulled taut over bones with a few organs here and there would weigh about 85 pounds. I'm not sure whether I was shocked that I still weighed that much. (Hell, during this whole escapade- or as my mother would say to me about something nonsensical and needed someone at whom to point a finger: "You mean that thing you pulled" while looking especially grim and full of anger. Oy. Well "during this thing I pulled," I did lose about 25 to 30 pounds.) Or was it a shock that this thing I'd become (skin taut on top of bones) weighed so little? We should ask the Baby Bear. It was probably just right. But Baby Bear, his parents, nor Goldilocks were lucky enough to have hair that looked like Buckwheat's. Except mine had the texture of extremely dry straw. Chip shaved the sides of my head (per my direction), so I had something that resembled hair that stood straight at attention. Like the Queen's Guard. I bet there are women who spend hundreds of dollars to get this look. Mine cost about a million and a half. Dollars. Not forints or rupees of bahts. Dollars, American. That's one hell of a haircut. Plus a fool-proof diet plan. Such a deal!
But without flesh on my bones, it actually hurt to sit. "Chi-ip, (fyi, indicates whining) could you get me a doughnut?"So Chip went to a medical supply store and bought me a doughnut. I love my doughnut. I don't need it anymore, because Lipmans have always been amply butted. It just feels good. The cat has figured this out too. Man, does that boy love that doughnut. And in his little cat brain he must be thinking, this is exactly like the cat bed you bought me except this one is on the couch. Why can't I have this one too. Or better yet, "Fran, please feel free to use my old bed. That nice green one you bought especially for me, and I'll just use this one if that's okay." So we play this game. He curls up on the doughnut. (That damned doughnut really fits him to a T.) He pretends to be deeply asleep. He makes sure you can't see his eyes. And to get him out, you have lift a completely limp, 14-pound cat who damn well isn't going to help you remove him from HIS spot. Once removed, he gives you this plaintive, yet dirty, look. Fuck it. when he sleeps with us, he manages to take up the entire bed, and we don't complain. Hey Conway, why not go sleep on the damned doughnut?
But I adore Conway, and he knows I hate to, god forbid, disturb him. It's simply a crime how these damned little mammals just take over your home. And we invite these in.
The photo above is my boy Conway loving on his doughnut. (Hey, I know who wears the pants in this family, and it sure ain't me.)