Squirrel Charm

It is the unusual attributes of squirrels that make them most endearing.

Yesterday I bested my own personal record time for getting covered in my supper. Sprout and I were at the Broadway Cafe for supper, and the server set down his hamburger and my hot turkey sandwich. Within 60 seconds, I had gravy all over the chest of my shirt and on the cuff, from lunging across to assist the small boy with his big burger. Chawaming.

And this week, I have managed to get my Mother in Law's Tongue houseplant to flower. Since when does Mother in Law's Tongue flower?!? I have left the repotting of the plant so long that it's on its last legs: 'Can't... make it.. much longer... Must... re-..produce...' I didn't notice the flower at first, but kept smelling a sickeningly sweet scent near the front entrance. 'Mold?', I thought. 'Something rotten in Sprout's backpack?' No, just the do-it-yourself funeral wreath of yet another doomed houseplant.

Jim says that from a suitable distance - like that of a working colleague - I appear to be the most conscientious, together person. But then if you look closer there's food-encrusted blouses and botani-cide. Which is the real squirrel?

Chip chrrrr. I'm not telling.