Everything in this house shocks me. Like electrically. I’ve been shocked four times today. The computer cord, the light switch, the other light switch and now the my camera charger. AHHHHH.
People in Zone D, where I live, have a little bit more money than the other zones. The houses are more legit and they can afford life little extras, like pets. The thing is that, even with a bigger home, it wouldn’t be fair to say anyone’s house is really big enough for a pet, and no one has backyard. So you want a dog and you don’t have the space…how do we solve this problem? You get a roof dog.
That’s right folks. A roof dog is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a dog. That you own. That lives on your roof. All the time. It’s kind of awesome. They’re kinda like guard dogs because when you get near a house that has one they run to the edge of the roof and bark at you. And for a second, you’re afraid. And then you’re like, wait, that dog is not going to jump off the roof to fight me. For sure. But then you aren’t sure. Because they always seem like they just might do it. Go ahead. Just give ‘em a reason to jump off. Make his day. And then you’re not so sure. So you back up. Ingenious! I want one for the house.
I brought my Kindle into the library today to read to the kids. I have Twilight in Spanish and they all take turns reading it. One kid named Enzo is so excited about the Kindle he can barely stand it. But he’s excited for all the wrong reasons, because no matter how many times I explain it to him, he can’t get the idea out of his mind that with this magical device I can turn any movie into a book.
– Can you get me that movie “300” on here? I love that movie.
– Right, Enzo, it’s got to already be a book. This doesn’t turn movies into books. It’s just the electronic version of something that was already a paper book.
– What about the Fast and the Furious?
– Yeah. Sure. I’ll look for that one.
Things I’ve been asked to hold on the Combi:
- A backpack
- A sack of onions
- A baby
- A plastic bag that leaks an unidentifiable liquid onto my toes/flip-flops. But there’s no where to move so I just keep holding it and letting it drip all over me.
- A potato sack containing a screaming animal. Well now I have to ask:
– What’s in there?
– My cat
– To eat?
– (Horrified.) No! No he’s my cat.
– Oh, well. I’m okay to just hold him, maybe we should take him out of the bag? He seems upset.
– Oh no! We can’t do that. He’d run away. He hates the Combi.
Hm. That makes two of us.