 |
"Beautiless and My Beasts"
I tell Mr. Tally I'm out of service for a half hour, and I lock myself in the bathroom after doing a quick check to be sure I'm alone in here. First, a hair conditioning cream. Just lately my Hairdos are looking more like Hairdonts, so I figure its time for some help. I slather the stuff in, making spikes and spires in my hair, like a little girl. Next comes a beauty mask. The mask stuff was a little dry. Well, it's been a year since I last used it. I smear on the turquoise gook. It smells pretty good. While I'm conditioning and cleansing, I start with the nail polish. The only thing these nails have seen in a month is Palmolive dish detergent, Felovite, Amoxycillin and Dove body wash. I hitch myself up onto the bathroom counter, stick my feet in the sink bowl and begin with my toes.
And then I hear it.
It's Donovan. Coming out of the cat box in the bathtub. Great. Just great. Donovan has an unfortunate habit of sitting inside the covered cat box. I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it takes him a while to find the perfect spot, or maybe he does some of his best thinking in there. After all, he is a guy. I've got wet nails and cotton balls stuck between my toes, and Donny comes sauntering out from the bathtub and is standing at the door wanting to be let out. Well, I'm sorry Donny, but you're just going to have to wait a few minutes. I'm busy here.
I start on the other foot. I get a royal glare. I can't do anything about this Donovan. Next time try sending up a flare before I shut the door.
Now, a closed door in the Tally household is truly a wondrous thing. If you ever need to do a face count, just shut a door with someone on the other side. It's the feline equivalent of a magnet. They come from everywhere. I can see little paws and tails already beginning to congregate behind the other side.
"Donovan, what are you doing in there?" asks Gizmo. "You're not supposed to be there, you're supposed to be here."
"I want to be on the other side," whines Tally The Cat. "You are on the other side, silly" snaps Donovan. He's getting a little testy at not getting his way. "Is mom in there with you, or did you lock yourself in? Does dad need to get a bobby pin and pick the lock?" snickers Sammy.
"Eeeeuw what's that smell?" blurts out Donovan. The smell of nail polish has just struck his little wrinkled nostrils. He's breathing through his mouth, and giving me his Pathetic-Pleading-I'm-About-To-Die look.
"Mom, I gotta go, I gotta go." Its Buster, and I can hear him hopping around on his four feet. Sorry, I yell back, we have two other convenient locations to serve you. This one is occupied. "But its my lucky box" he replies. Well, doesn't that just give you pause to think.
"How long is this going to take" demands Donovan. Count your blessings. You could be trapped in here with Mr. Tally and the latest PC Magazine. I'll guarantee you wouldn't see the hallway for at least an hour. I continue spreading Frosted Raisin across my fingernails. Donovan goes back to the box, evidently to do some more thinking.
Kenya starts scratching on the door. "Let me in mom, let me in. I gotta see the Bridal section in the June Vogue." This brings me up short. Excuse me? Kenya, you are a spayed female living with 7 neutered males. I don't think a trousseau is in your near future, so chill out.
Donovan suddenly bolts from the box and vaults into my lap. Now, I know this is a deliberate move on his part. He is spraying Petsmart clumping litter and fur everywhere, including my wet polish. He sits himself down smack in front of my face and gives me his Top-This look. OK, I concede.
I think its time for that door to be opened. I holler for Mr. Tally, while waving my nails in the air. Oh Aleueeeuown. The mask is hardening. I'm having trouble with vowels. Hewwwoooooo? Is aaaallleeee one oooout thir? Where is Mr. Tally when you need him? Outside using his nine iron to whack weeds with, I'll bet.
Kenya is continuing to scratch on the door, desperate to see Vera Wang's latest designs. Donovan is shoving his paw under the door passing notes written on toilet paper. "Release me," they plead. Puleez. You'd think he'd been sentenced to Al-cat-raz.
Gizmo is now hurling himself bodily against the closed door, convinced Donovan is being held against his will. Boots is giving Zeke instructions on how to dial 911. Buster is pitching a fit on the other side, and Tally The Cat has most of his right arm under the door trying to free Donny. Or maybe he's still trying to figure out a way to get to the other side.
I've had enough. I jump down from the vanity and hobble over to the door on my heels. Donovan manages to swipe a cotton ball and smudge the Raisin Frost on my big toe as I pass him. Geez. All I wanted was 30 short minutes, but nooooo. I gotta deal with a riot out here.
I fling open the door. Donovan bolts for freedom, knocking over the others like bowling pins. As they right themselves, 7 pairs of eyes slowly swivel upwards and stare at me like I stepped out of a Stephen King novel.
You've never seen anyone with a turquoise face, spiked hair, smudged and pebble textured nails and smelling like acetate?
I go back to rinse, peel, remove the ruined polish and contemplate my life. Getting a little private time in this household is next to impossible. Sigh. I wonder if the conditioner was on long enough………..
Tally’s Tales
|
Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. My laundry was not only done, it was folded and put away. A rather uncommon sight in this house. There's nary a dirty dish in the sink, and no dust bunnies in sight. When was the last time I had time to pamper myself?
