My F'ed Up Little Family

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Yesterday, Gary and I didn't get dressed.

We weren't sick.

We weren't depressed.

We were working.

From 6 a.m. until 7 p.m. in my writing studio in the carriage house attached to our house. We woke up, started working and never stopped. And, the fact that Gary was still wearing yoga pants and I was wearing flannel PJ's (yes, I'm a 1950's sitcom character) emblazoned with dancing pine trees (yes, I'm a modern-day gay man), and that neither of us had washed our faces, brushed our teeth, or touched our hair, too, didn't totally dawn on us until the lawn service arrived to mow our yard and blow our leaves. When one of the men rang the doorbell to get the check, our little family rushed the door, and he asked, "Are you sick?"

"No."

"Are you cleaning?"

"No."

"Are you -- you know -- working?"

Silence.

"Did you lose your jobs?"

I felt, for an instant, like I'd been punched in the gut.

I should have appreciated the man's concern, but my first instinct -- like most of mine are -- was anger. In fact, I was about to get mad at his insinuation, but when I started to speak, I looked more closely at Gary, who had cookie crumbs in his beard, and what looked like applesauce smeared across a lens of his Italian glasses. He was wearing his beloved slipper socks, which had turned about 90 degrees, making him look like he had leathery webbed feet.

I caught a reflection of myself in the reflection off a window in our living room, and my hair looked like it should have had moons rotating around it. I had hunks of chocolate chip cookies in my teeth that made me look I'd been in a hideous bar fight, and flecks of anti-aging cream dotted my face and earlobes.

I glanced down at our dogs, who we'd recently festooned in their Halloween "drag": Marge was wearing a candy corn bandana, and Mabel was sporting a headpiece ala Steve Martin's axe-in-the-skull.

My little family looked totally Macy Gray meets Mel Gibson and has Danielle Staub as a baby crazy.

And that made me blissfully, gleefully happy.

It was a beautiful fall day, our woods were aglow in color, and we were all together, working our insane little asses off because I was inundated with projects and deadlines. It was what I'd always dreamed of. Just, you know, with more of a Cribs feel.

I let out a little chuckle, the creepy kind killers on CSI do right before they bludgeon someone to death.

Before I could say a word, the man from the lawn service backed away from my little family -- creeping down the steps of our front porch like Snoopy -- and said, "No charge this time. OK? OK? No charge! My gift to you!"

And, like that, he was gone. Vapor. Thankful to be alive, I'm sure.

I shrugged my shoulders, and we all started running back to my office in the carriage house to continue working.

But not before I could pants Gary on the way up the stairs. And celebrate our hard work and free lawn care by watching Hoarders later that evening.

Because that's how we roll. And I couldn't be prouder.

3 Comments:

Blogger Shameless Agitator said...

I love getting lost in my work. Thanks for the laugh this morning. I can't wait for your next book, Wade!

October 13, 2010 at 6:45 AM  
Blogger jill girard said...

as usual I am howling with laughter.......after the nasty day i needed it!!

October 13, 2010 at 4:44 PM  
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