Outside the Box

A mother and daughter volunteer at a local cat shelter, every Thursday. They work in the isolation room, where they put cats that have illnesses or have recently undergone surgery. The surgeries are, of course, usually spaying or neutering. If the cat is pregnant, the babies are taken out and disposed. But, we're not here to talk about a cat's right to choose. Focus...

The daughter has lofty dreams of becoming a veterinarian someday, and volunteers to start building her résumé. The mother has to go, because her daughter is under 16, and therefore needs a parent or guardian to accompany her. This is what happened one day...

Mother: Wow. Lots of female cats today that recently underwent surgery. Wow! This one has big boobies still.  Look!

Daughter: MOM!

Mother:  (pretending to milk the cat) Look!  I'm a cat milker!  Hey!  I'm going to milk these cats and make cat cheese. Yes. It's going to be awesome.

Daughter:  Ugh. Your definition of awesome is right in line with a teenage boy's.  

Mother:  Yessss. Cat cheese. I'm gonna be rich.

Daughter: That's gross. No one is going to want cat cheese. I did see camel cheese in San Francisco. That's gross too.

Mother:  See! They milk camels. Cows...camels...cats. A perfectly natural progression. It's plain to see.

Daughter:  No.

Mother:  The name of my company is "Cat Cheesus" and the logo is a cat on a cross.  "Our cats sacrifice their very best milk to make cheese for you!" Our spokescat will be a cute little calico named Cheese Louise.

Daughter:  (No words - just mouth hanging open, then shutting again.)

Mother:  What?

Daughter:  No.  No one will buy it. And it's cruel.

Mother:  (Thinking.  Then appealing to her daughter's love of cats.)  I will make millions and then I will build a no kill shelter for cats. You can't milk a dead cat!

Daughter:  (Mumbling) No. Even though it's a no kill shelter, you're enslaving the cats for milk. No.

Mother:  I think the cats would rather give milk than die.

Daughter:  You'll never get a license to milk cats or to sell cat milk. I'm pretty sure the camel milk people had to wait for a special permit. Why do I know that?

Mother:  I am a big picture person. I'll hire simpler minds to work out the details. I think in broad strokes, daughter. Don't stifle my creativity with your left brain stuff.

Daughter:  It's right brain.

Mother:  No it isn't.

Daughter:  Whatever.

After they volunteered, they made their ritual stop at Taco del Leche. The usual guy behind the counter.

Usual Guy: Do you want cheese on this burrito?

Mother:  Is it cat cheese?

Daughter:  Oh my god mom, really?

Usual Guy:  Wha?

Mother:  I'm going to make a cat cheese company. I was seeing how open you were to cat cheese. Is it cat cheese?

Usual Guy:  (Smiling big)  Not yet!

Daughter:  I'm surrounded.

Mother:  Yessss...

Walking to the car - 

Mother:  See!  He's totally open to cat cheese. Taco del Leche will be my first customer.

Daughter:  Mom. He just works the counter at one of the stores. He doesn't have the authority to make those kinds of purchasing decisions.

Mother:  BUT! He can sneak my cat cheese in. Customers will love it and flock to that store because of the exotic and delicious cheese. I'll make so much money, I'll finally be able to afford that shed.

Daughter:  Mom.  No one is going to go in for this cat cheese.  No one!

Mother:  (Mocking daughter)  "Oh hi. I'm the smartest 13 year old around and I KNOW my mother's cat cheese business is going to fail, even though I've done NO market research!"

Daughter:  Either have you.

Mother:  Details details. I'm a broad stroke thinker. Details.

When I was in Love with Friday

November 18th 2011

You're just about to hit a wall - you just can't take it anymore. Right at that moment, he walks in. He seems so familiar, but you're unsure. He heads straight for you with confidence and a playfulness you can't resist. His jeans aren't too tight - but you get the impression you're not going to be disappointed. He hands you your favorite adult beverage (for me, it's a pint of Oatis by Ninkasi) and you two hit it off instantly. Before you know it, you've been talking for almost an hour and realize you haven't introduced yourself. Funny, he already knows your name and when you ask for his, he leans in close and with a sultry whisper says, "Friday." Well, helloooo Friday.

December 2nd 2011

You're not the doctor-going type - you just don't trust them. Maybe it's the insurance and/or the pharmaceutical industry's influence that has you soured. Whatever it is, it would take a severed limb to break you down and make an appointment. Today, you're thinking otherwise. You've had a headache for five straight days - constant, low-grade and personality changing. You've tried everything: Excedrin, Tylenol, Motrin, Alleve - nothing has worked. At this point you're actually thinking of trying something "natural" or "homeopathic" even though you think that's a load of crap too. Reaching for the phone to dial LifeSource, a co-worker approaches and soberly looks you straight in the eyes. He's never said much to you and honestly, you've been a little shy to talk to him; he has an aloof manner that makes him seem unapproachable. His lips part in a half smile as he knowingly says, "I know how you suffer." He delicately takes your hand and leads you to the opened front door, "Take a deep breath." Amazingly, your headache instantly dissipates. Your sudden relief mimics religious rapture and your voice quavers as you ask him, "Wha-what is it?" He looks down at you with compassion laced with possibility and replies, "That's the smell of Friday."

December 16th 2011

You've been dating your boyfriend for quite a while now, and you really like him. You were a little insecure at first, he's not the most demonstrative guy you've ever dated, but what he lacks in words he makes up for in actions. He wants you to meet his parents, and in a moment of unguarded optimism, you offered to cook. What were you thinking? You've heard stories of how his parents are big meat eaters and they requested ribs. You were a vegetarian for many years and have only been eating meat for a couple months. You've never cooked ribs; you don't even know where to start. You decide to go see a butcher that was recommended to you by one of your more carnivorous friends. The butcher is very obliging and gives you some tips on how to make delicious and succulent ribs. You're still not confident that you're going to be able to pull this off. You stress all week and the day comes when his mom and dad will be sitting at your table, waiting to eat meat off the bone. You're not the religious type, but you're so beside yourself with panic and worry that you drop to your knees and lift your voice to the heavens pleading for intervention. None comes. You have to force your legs to walk you into the kitchen; you will your hands to unwrap the ribs from the white butcher paper labeled in black raspberry juice "Beef Ribs." As you upwrap, you notice there's a note tucked in the folds of the paper. It's from the butcher. The words are easy to read, "Don't worry. I rubbed a little Friday on them. Enjoy." Those were the best f****** ribs you've ever eaten. You're now wearing your boyfriend's grandmother's diamond engagement ring. I guess a little Friday goes a long, long way.