MORE NAKEDNESS

I don't know if it was The Scottish Dreamer's experience--asking the naked man to breakfast--or if it is my galloping insecurities or what, but last night I dreamed I was naked. In someone else's house. Agreeing to babysit their dog--a Rottweiler, yet. While looking at their 1949 Packard Convertible limousine and wondering why they weren't more upset--or even upset at all--by my nakedness.

And then I realized that no one in a naked condition should agree to babysit a Rottweiler. Or be in someone else's house. Or even look down. Especially the looking down part. In fact, they should just wrap up on one of Omar's tents and go home. I don't know why I didn't do that, in my dream last night, instead of hanging around, at an embarrassing level to a Rottweiler's cold nose with a Packard convertible limousine, with leather seats. Have you ever sat on a leather seat? Naked? With a Rottweiler right there, all attentive and slobbery?

Some nights it doesn't pay to go to bed.

THE SCOTTISH DREAMER INVITES A NAKED STRANGER TO BREAKFAST

The Scottish Dreamer (story here) and her family were on a little vacation in Idaho. It was Sunday morning. She and one of her boys went out their French door that led to the swimming pool and the spot for breakfast. She thought it would just be juice and a muffin but it was more. She was halfway through her French toast and thought she'd go tell her hubby and other son to hurry up so they could eat before they went to church.

When she got to their door it was locked. She'd just gone out that door. How'd it get locked? She pounded on the door, calling to her husband to hurry and come and have some delicious breakfast.

Nothing, Not even a whisper of a sound from inside.

More pounding on the door. "Hurry Clark Kent," (not his real name but it fits), "hurry and come to breakfast."

Nothing.

Then she noticed the drapes weren't closed all the way. She cupped her face with her hands and peered into the room. She saw a naked man with a tattoo of a cross on his back. He started tiptoeing to the very door she stood on the other side of.

The Scottish Dreamer was probably an Olympic athlete in her early years as she made it back to the table in one point four seconds--wearing four inch heels, yet. She picked up her fork, looked at the ceiling--as if it were fascinating--and pretended she never left the table. In fact, if she could, she would have grown roots.

I don't know if her husband and son ever made it to breakfast. I don't know if naked-tiptoeing-tattooed man did either.

I could hardly draw a breath for laughter when the Scottish Dreamer looked at me and--with the face of an angel, an innocent angel--said, "This kind of thing happens to me all the time. I don't know why."

I don't know why, either. Maybe it's Karma. Maybe she and Mrs. Bird really are long lost sisters. I'm just grateful for the laughter that saves me from insanity.

MRS BIRD FORGETS SHE IS WEARING NO PANTS

Mrs. Bird called last night. I told her I needed another story and of course she obliged. I could hear her husband in the background, laughing his head off, saying things like, "Oh, dear, don't tell her that, oh my, hahahahaha."

For those of you not familiar with the anatomy of her house it's like this. The garage is on the bottom level. The laundry room/furnace room/storage room--which she calls "a scary place"--is down there. They have a couple of family rooms on that level, one of which is sometimes used as a bedroom. They have NO bathroom!

She comes in from the garage and almost always has been out way too long for her bladder's comfort. She dashes into the laundry room and pees in a cup. It used to be a mason jar but then she found The Training Table's plastic cups. They are big and flexible and as she says, "conform to any shape you need it to." So, now she uses one of those. There is no sink in the laundry/furnace/storage/scary room and she found out the floor drain does not go into the sewer, it drains into gravel under the foundation so there is no way she is emptying the Training Table cup there. She takes it upstairs, empties it in the toilet and then sanitizes it for her next emergency.

The other day she came home, barely made it to the laundry room, pulled down her pants and, well, you know. Then she took all her clothes off and put all her underwear in the washer along with all the whites that had come down the laundry chute. She looked at her tennis shoes and decided to soak her shoelaces in some bleach but she was out of bleach so she went to the garage to get an extra bottle. Oops, she thought, I'm naked, so she put her T-shirt back on and then went to the garage. She got the bleach, soaked her shoelaces and then dumped the bleach into the Training Table cup.

While she was in the garage she noticed some plants she wants Tom Cruise to plant for her. (His name isn't really Tom Cruise but she can't pronounce his first name so asked him if she could just call him Tom as his last name is Cruise. He, of course, is delighted.) (This is also how her stories go, when she is telling them to you, full of side stories.)

So, she took her training table cup full of it's concoction, thinking she would just dump it on the "hill." (The hill is uninhabited and full of weeds where feral cats mark their spot. She wondered if her concoction would change their minds.)

She gathered her plants in her other hand and went outside to put the plants where she wanted them planted and then and only then did she remember she was practically naked. She looked around, sheepishly, and backed slowly into the garage. She doesn't think anyone saw her, in just a T-shirt (Mrs, Bird is well endowed under her T-shirt so that's another reason she would have been interesting) but if they had they would just shake their head and say, "Crazy Mrs. Bird," in the most lovingly sort of way.

Mrs. Bird, my pant-less, underwear-less, bra-less friend. How I love her willingness to let me share all the bare facts with you.

MY EMAIL INBOX IS EMPTY

Earlier today my inbox had over twenty thousand emails. It's now empty. I deleted them.

My deleted file now has 22,092 emails. I can't delete them permanently. Yet. I'm thinking about it, really I am but it's such a big step. It's like tossing out all the real mail you've saved, all the Happy Birthday cards, the thank you notes. There are kind words from dear friends in the delete file. I wonder if I will miss those emails. I'm going to give it a day or two to decide for sure.

So, if you feel so inclined, you could send me an email so my inbox won't be so darn naked.

If you feel so inclined.

I've written the "naked" word above. That is to give you a little excitement in case your life is boring or you are forlorn. Naked. There, don't you feel a little bit excited?

Me too. Excited to hide behind the door or the shower curtain or even the very large, very leafy potted plant--if I had one.

I should delete this post too but I never do. I'm sorry later but that's the way life is. You live it and it's out there for all to see. Nakedly.

BUILD-A-BEAR STORE--AKA EMPTY-YOUR-WALLET-HERE STORE!

Today we met our beautiful granddaughter, Mary Poppins and her mom and the other three beautiful grandkids at the mall. It's Mary Poppins' birthday tomorrow. She is turning eight. Next month she will be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. Eight is a wondrous age and Mary Poppins is a wonderful little girl. Very loving, smart, sensitive and has the most beautiful eyes you will ever see on a child. She has a good heart which is the best of all her qualities.

Anyway, we were going to buy her a build-a-whatever-she-wanted at the Build-a-Bear store. I had a $5.00 off coupon, which I couldn't find when it was time to go to the store. Coupons have a way of doing that to me. I have them until I need them and then I have-them-not. Until they expire, then I have them again.

Mary Poppins picked a pink spotted leopard, it's name is Pawfect Pink Leopard, it is very cute. Then the lady starts adding things. A Build-a-Sound? A Heart Beat? She doesn't ask the one paying the bill, just asks the child. Our sensible Mary Poppins didn't want those things. Whew.

"Okay," the Super-Sonic-Build-a-Bear-Sales-Person (her father was a carny-barker) said, "Go give her a bath and then go pick out her clothes." Not, "Would you care to look at clothes?" Just, "Go pick them out!" An order. An animal couldn't walk out naked? Like nature intended?

I looked at Phil. The whites of his eyes were showing all around his pupils. "Clothes?" he mouthed. I shrugged.

"I'm paying for the clothes," Mary Poppins's darling mother said. She has been there before. She recognized a shell shocked grandfather when she saw one.

Mary Poppins picked out a khaki, pleated skirt, a shirt and shoes. Shoes? Yes, shoes. Obviously a well dressed panther wears shoes on his feet but not his other feet which seem to be hands.

"I don't know why these animals need clothes," Mary Poppins's mother said. "They never stay dressed anyway."

Mary Poppins grinned. She was already planning to strip the Pawfect Pink Panther's clothes off as soon as she got home. I could tell. She will mean to re-dress her but the chances of it happening are slim. Especially when it comes time to take Pawfect to bed. Who wants to sleep with a panther with scratchy clothes and clunky shoes?

Then Mary Poppins and her mother registered the well dressed animal, Mary Poppins gave it a name. JoJo. A birth certificate was printed out and we went to pay. The clothes cost as much as the bear! Oh my stars! I looked at Mary Poppins's Mother. The whites of my eyes were now showing all around the pupils.

"I've been here before," Mary Poppins's mother said dryly. "I looked like that the first time."

I gave Mary Poppins a hug as we left the store. "Thank you," I mouthed over the top of her head at her mom.

"You're welcome," she said. "Those clothes won't stay on ten minutes," she said with half closed eyes as she slowly shook her head.

She sighed. We sighed. Mary Poppins sighed. We all sighed for different reasons and then we all departed, leaving the Build a Bear store almost $50.00 richer.

I logged onto the Build a Bear website when I got home. They have stores in every state and nineteen countries. Nineteen! Including India. I thought India had poverty unlimited. Maybe that's why. All the little stuffed animals are running around with expensive clothes made in China for pennies and the savvy woman who invented this Build-a-Bear empire is vacationing in Nassau, sipping ice cold drinks on the beach and laughing every time she hears a cash register ring another sale. She is laughing almost non-stop.

I'm sure she deserves it. Her stores are darling, they really are and Mary Poppins had a wonderful time. She got a giant sticker on her sweater, saying it was her birthday. She got to ring a big school bell and everyone in the store yelled "Happy Birthday," but I have to ask one question? Can't animals be happy being naked?

Obviously not, or the genius behind this empire would only be sipping ice water in Miami instead of whatever she pleases in Nassau or St. Maarten or whatever is the vacationing mecca this year.

Happy birthday, darling Mary Poppins and happy birthday JoJo, the Pawfect Pink Leopard. May you and Mary Poppins have great times together. We love you, Mary Poppins, forever and ever. Grandma and Grandpa