S is for Storyteller

Okay… it’s time to confess that I’m not REALLY a queen, although Left Brain makes me feel like one.  When I was younger I was a fibber, and then graduated to being a liar. But then I got really good at it and so now I’m a story teller.

The majority of what you have read so far has actually happened, but not necessarily at the same time or in the sequence portrayed.  My hobby is to take the ordinary minutiae of life and embellish it to where it’s no longer recognizable.

Here’s a short story I call “the Downfall of the Queen”.

Once upon a time in a canned ham far… far away lived a Queen with her Left Brain King and their diabolical cat named She Devil.  Now, She Devil is a rather portly cat and requires a litter pit the size of Wyoming, which during the daily cleanings I like to sing ”Oh, those golden nuggets”.  I have found that turning this chore into a musical production makes it more tolerable, but apparently only to me.   Someone in the RV Park filed a complaint about a cat howling more than the allowable maximum of three minutes.  After it was explained that it was ME, an addendum was added to the Official Park Rules.

Now please take a moment to visualize the scene.  Scooping the litter requires sitting on the very narrow edge of the opened bench seat while holding a bag in my left hand and a scooper in my right and the lid with my right shoulder. Then I dip down to scoop and lift up to drop.  It’s a great workout for the abs if you don’t mind the smell

Since I was banned from singing, I was able to hear my cell phone that fateful day. Most of our correspondence is done through email, Face Book, twitters, tweets, bleeps, smoke signals and the like… nothing involving the human voice.  The cell phone was belting out the second chorus of Enya’s “broken glass” which meant my friend, Glass Girl, was on the line..

Desperate for female conversation I plunged the scoop into the litter while retaining a tight grip with my left hand and began to reach for the phone. Dang…it’s just out of reach.  I inched my substantial butt a little more to the right and stretched my right arm almost out of the socket. I’m almost about there. Then I let my fingers do the walking the rest of the way.  I’ve got it!  I jerked it to my ear while punching the answer button with my thumb.

Now, my attention space is the size of a gnat and this sequence of events was beyond my capacity.  And that explains why in my excitement I forgot now narrow my seating was.

Splat!  I folded up on my descent into the mostly clean litter pit, losing my grip with both reality and my left hand.  The bag split upon hitting the floor and golden nuggets rolled every which way. “Oh s*#t!” I exclaimed which was quite accurate.  Crack! The lid gave way and hit my head. Thank goodness I was wearing my safety tiara.

“What’s that noise!” yelled Glass Girl.  “Are you okay?”

“Oh… I’m just sitting in the litter box” I replied.

This explanation was met with a long silence before Glass Girl spoke again.

“I know the shoilet is awkward, but it’s gotta be better than using the litter box.”

Well that did it.  Now both of us had a serious case of the giggles.

I tried to get up but the laughter was incapacitating. Each attempt was futile and caused another whack to the head.  This led to more laughter, which was now far past the giggling stage and reaching the level with snorts, tears and a runny nose.

“What are you doing in there?” Left Brain bellowed from the Coping Cabana. 

Well, by now the hysteria had ramped up another notch and when you are a woman of my age, laughter and bladder control are incompatible. 

“I’m goooooing to the baaaathrooooom!” I shrieked, laughing because it was both absurd and true.  This caused Glass Girl to laugh she hard she needed her inhaler.

Left Brain was reminding me of what almost happened the last time I was being so loud as he burst into the canned ham.  He took a moment to survey his Kingdom.  I was wedged into the litter box with my feet up over her head, a phone in one hand and laughing incoherently.  There was cat poop rolling around litter strewn floor.  She Devil yawned and rolled her eyes as if to say “It wasn’t MY fault”.

He took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it.  He just shook his head and quietly left the room. He’s learned that sometimes it’s best to say nothing and let it go.  This was definitely one of those times.

Now, I ask you.  Wasn’t this more fun than saying “I fell into the litter box yesterday?

Long Live the Queen of the Story Tellers