If you missed Life in Anecdotes, Part 1, click here.
“Erin, where are you headed?”
“To see the Muffin Man.”
“Who is the Muffing Man?”
“The Man who sells Muffins.”
(Sometimes life is exactly as it sounds.)
COVID, Mpox…here’s a different story: On Friday, my dad, a vet, neutered a cat with an unknown history that was dropped off at the hospital. By Monday, the cat was slamming against things and eating its own litter. Tragically, the poor thing was found dead, and testing revealed it had rabies.
My dad had to get a rabies booster due to exposure to the cat’s saliva. This isn’t new for him—he and my mom recently faced a similar situation with an adorable kitten they were caring for, which also turned out to have rabies. :( Thankfully, everyone’s fine. Of course we joke in our traditional macabre style, ‘Well…, it’ll make for a colorful obituary!’
Me out running: “Maybe today is the day I see dolphins in the East River.”
East River: “Nope. But here’s someone’s shoe.”
By the way, dolphins were spotted in the East River in 2013 and 2021 and one in the Bronx River in 2023.
Gotta love the communal laundry room—you’re rushing to move your stuff from washer to dryer, and your neighbor’s practically breathing down your neck for the next open machine. Then, of course, a pair of underwear flies right at him.
I need to go out more. Even my house plants are asking for alone time.
This morning, I swam laps in a gorgeous indoor pool that’s only $12 a month—a total steal. The catch? The locker room has the “there’s definitely an axe murderer waiting in the shower” ambiance. So, I scrub down like I’m in prison and air dry in style: on the swings outside.
Today, a woman, maybe in her sixties or seventies, hopped on the swing next to mine. No words, just synchronized squeaks and the Fall breeze slapping our faces as we relived our childhood glory. Then, the swing set started clunking and groaning like it was about to eject us into orbit and collapse in a lawsuit…and having sprained my tail bone before in a toboggan adventure on the hills of Hillside Dairy Farm, I bailed out with an emergency landing. But she? She kept going…and going…and going…and going…like on a one-way flight to the Fountain of Youth.
I was out walking Barnaby and an older gentleman who enjoys offering his opinions told me he was fat.
I said, “No, it’s fluff. Once you groom him, he’s coyote fit.”
He said, “No, he’s fat.”
“No, he’s fluffy.”
“Fat!”
“Fat!”
“Okay, fine. But he’s not fat for America.”
He seemed content with that answer.
