Dogs, Books, and Dinner

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Now playing: Maxwell - Fortunate
via FoxyTunes

I haven't blogged in a bit, so I've got a couple things to catch up on:

I most foolishly agreed to pet-sit for some friends. I've dog and house-sat before, so I didn't think I'd have too many problems. Mistake 1: Assuming that because the kids aren't all that big, neither will the dog be. Mistake 2: Assuming that being asked to sit the dog without having met it means it's nice and friendly to everyone. I go over to the house Friday with plenty of time before the meeting (or so I thought) to take care of the dog, eat, and change for meeting. The instant I crack the door, the barking begins. The dog is almost as big as I am, and seriously ticked off to have it's house invaded. I go over to the counter, where instructions await me. After following the instructions provided on how to 'befriend' the dog, the animal still will not let me touch it. We're talking puncture marks if I don't stay out of range. I go back outside (in the heat) and start calling to see who can come and calm the dog down. I finally manage to get someone (Richard) to come and help. By this point, the dog has already pooped on the floor. Nice. Richard agrees to walk the dog while I clean up the poo, and when he comes back in, I make sure to make nice with the now friendly doggie. I finally get to eat and change, and arrive at meeting a mere forty-five minutes late. I consider getting there at all a victory after all the dog drama. The rest of the weekend goes a bit better, with the exception of the dog peeing on the carpet when I foolishly think it might appreciate some time not chained up. It's a good thing I got paid for this.

Saturday at dinner, I got invited to join a book group. Fantastic! I love to read. I'm a book-a-week-easy reader. They're meeting on Monday, and I'm invited to come and watch, since it's assumed by us both I can't get the book read in time. Sunday I decide I'm going to try, so I go out and purchase said book and start reading. And keep reading. And keep reading. And keep reading. It's a 500-page Isaac Asimov book. Now, don't think it was the size that was daunting. I consider that a nice size for books I truly enjoy. Let me tell you, this book wasn't a page-turner. There was no staying up 'till two a.m because you're so engrossed in this book. This was work. It wasn't boring enough for me to give up on, but I was certainly relieved when I finished it at three p.m. the day of the book club, after having started it about three the previous afternoon. (I did stop to eat and sleep in there.) I gave it a solid, middle-of-the-road review, because while it wasn't the worst thing I've ever read, it certainly wasn't the best. At least now I know I'm not missing anything not reading Asimov. He's a little dry for me. I prefer some wit and humor in the novels I read, or at least enough depth to the character that I truly care about or detest them. I think Anne McCaffrey has spoiled me. After her many magnificent books, most sci-fi authors don't have the same draw for me. Our next book is a spiritual one, so of course it will be a different kind of read. I'm interested to see the conversations we'll have.

Every year around the time we arrived here in good old California, Brad and I go out for dinner to celebrate our 'Anniversary'. This year we went a bit late, but we finally went. We decided to go to La Provence, a truly fantastic French restaurant in the area. Brad even agreed to dress nicely without my having to suggest it. Things are looking up. I go to pick him up, because of course we're not taking his van that reeks of chlorine. He comes out to the car when I pull up, and immediately I can tell that something is wrong with his outfit. I'm still not sure what it was that bugged me (the colors maybe?), but since I couldn't put my finger on it, I just told him he looked fine. Anything other than jeans and a tee-shirt is a major concession from him, so I didn't want to be discouraging. His pants could have used ironing, but they weren't horribly wrinkled either, so I again put the brakes on my I-need-to-fix-you impulses. I try not to mother-hen him constantly, even though he so desperately needs it sometimes. We get up to the restaurant and are seated. We order drinks and appetizers, and they are wonderful. We're sitting there drinking and eating in a civilized manner, and then Brad reaches over and grabs a potato puff with his hand. Quelle horreure! I quietly tell him to put it down. This confuses him, so he continues to hold it in his hand. I'm starting to get embarrassed. This is a very nice, upscale restaurant and my dining companion has apparently been raised by wolves. I tell him again softly 'Put that down Brad.' He's still holding the potato puff in his hand and seems to have no idea what I'm trying to tell him. I finally manage to get the message across without resorting to smacking it out of his hand and he puts the puff down. I gently explain that the only thing we're having that night that's appropriate to eat with your hand is the bread. This seems to boggle his mind (or maybe it was the drink, it was quite strong) and he feels the need to check that he should have picked up the puff with his fork. I confirm that yes indeed, you should have used your fork. We move on and are conversing while continuing to eat and drink and not five minutes later he does it again! At this point I just start to laugh. He looks down and gets that abashed look he has sometimes and at least drops the puff on his plate much faster than before. I tell him I'm good practice for a real date and he laughs. We manage to get through the rest of the meal without any other major faux pas, and enjoy ourselves quite a bit. La Provence is expensive, but well worth it in my opinion. Maybe someday I'll get to go there on a date. Here's hoping my date doesn't pick up the food with his hands. I may have flashbacks and laugh at the poor guy. ;-)