In Which We Receive Gifts From Heaven

First, my Fabulous Russian Girlfriend in Bloodyslava came though with a website for rainboots. Imagine this statement in a Russian accent, a la Natasha from Rocky and Bullwinkle, "VHY NOBODY THERE IS HELPING YOU? YOU GOOGLE, YOU FIND BOOTS! FIRST PAGE!"

I love her. She always comes through. And she never pays retail.

Then, there appeared, mysteriously, a new cat box. The kind with a lid. In my front yard. It was rained on and sort of muddy. But there it sat, beckoning.

I took it home, washed it, and now it lives in the bathroom part of our bathroom (as opposed to the toilet part). Everyone is much happier, because, you see, there are FIVE people in this house and, inevitably, one of them is in the toilet at any given time. The shorter, furrier one, always seems to be using the loo in the morning when the taller, less furry ones need to get ready to go to work/school. And he looks so indignant, "Ex-cuse me! Um, I was pooping!"

The other news isn't news. It's just me moaning. One of my girlfriends/regular blogfans recently complained that while my blog entries are all educational and stuff, they lack that certain je ne sais quoi when I don't whine. Although she probably said "whinge."

First, I felt a major cold coming on starting on Friday, no doubt as a result of the soaking I experienced on Thursday. (Having seen what I have just written, I do now truly believe I have been in Eastern Europe too long.) By Saturday, I was cross and feeling lousy.

I was walking to the grocery store while The Spouse took the kids to a birthday party (because I wasn't feeling well). I see a guy looking up at a building, so I look up, too, in case there was something interesting going on up there. But, alas, no, there isn't, and I look down in time to see I'm about to step in a dip, so I adjust, last minute, and landed on a very small spot of mud (thank God it wasn't dogshit). Slipped just a tiny bit, but my neck went SPROING!!!!! I almost cried in the grocery store as I could not look down towards my feet (which, usually, is the direction a lot of the food is in your grocery store). Put the rice sock and hotwater bottle to work. Drank some wine. Moaned a lot. I don't have my full range of motion back now but at least the spasming has stopped. I can look down now, but can't look all the way up. That's progress.

The cold is progressing, but I still feel lousy today. I canceled Russian. Then I was complaining to The Spouse and any girlfriend who would listen (really, I have been a terrible complainer these past few days) about how my kidneys hurt, my hip bones even ache . . . now it occurs to me that it could possibly be my period. I'm 47 years old, and I still don't recognize the symptoms. Duh-oh!

The only other big news is that I ordered sausages from Warren's Sausages. I was expecting the delivery guy later this evening. But the phone rings and it's Sausage Delivery Guy saying "I'm here!"

So I run down to the front door to let him in. And while I am in the elevator, it stops. And goes just a little. Then stops. Then goes just a little. Then stops.

I have no idea what floor I'm on or between or whatever. I don't see a keyhole in the door to help me jamb it open. I do have my mobile phone (Sausage Delivery Guy is gonna start to wonder what happened to me, I think, so I'll just call him back . . .), except mobile phones don't get a signal in our elevator. The elevator might also protect one from nuclear attack and kryptonite.

I'm starting to cry (which, with the cold, ain't gonna be pretty) and stab at buttons. I'm not happy about being trapped in the elevator, but more importantly, I want those sausages! There is a button labeled alarm, and I poke at it, but nothing happens (that is, I don't hear an alarm). Suddenly a disembodied voice says, "WHAHwhahwhahwha-ha?" and the elevator, now at the first floor, opens.

I don't know yet how to say in Russian, "I am trapped in the elevator." Note to self: ask Russian teacher on Wednesday.

The sausages are in the freezer.

I'm taking the stairs.