Tremendous thanks to all those who submitted questions in the Ask Jeeves post! I'll be answering those delightful inquiries quite soon, I hope, but I leave tomorrow for some time at the beach (YESSSSS) and shall be away for the rest of the week. So, to tide you over until I'm gone, I present Summer Snippets.
“Don’t dogs usually just shake themselves dry?” Sylvia mumbled from behind her pile of towels.
“Indeed they do. Which is why we have to dry Pumblechook because we never know where he’ll decide to shake himself. One time he got inside the house somehow and did his drying in the living room. Daddy’s editor was coming over that afternoon and Daddy hit the ceiling.” Celia giggled. “After that the absolute rule was that Pumblechook HAD to be bathed in the backyard and dried there. We’ve all gotten really good at it-- in fact, a few summers ago Alice and Francie started a dog-washing business. It didn’t get very many customers, but maybe that was because Francie had insisted on naming it the Toodle-Pip Poodle Dip because she thought that was cute.”
Ethan has an incredible talent for waking up with a dirty face. I’m not sure what causes it. I mean, I do clean him before I put him to bed. After every meal, too. But all the same, he manages to present his bright eyed, bushy tailed self to me every morning with peanut butter or regular butter or toothpaste or who knows what smeared across his nose or forehead or even dabbed around his mouth. Which is, of course, the area that I clean most thoroughly. It’s infuriating and also a bit unsettling, because it makes me wonder if maybe he knows how to get out of the pack n’ play and go wandering around the flat to find himself a snack in the middle of the night. (Hence the mess in the morning.)
I really hope not. I was thinking I wouldn’t have to deal with random acts of eating at strange hours until he was at least thirteen or so.
“We had a gowdfish dat died,” said a little girl behind Derek, taking no notice of Mrs. Hennessey.
“Miss Darlene, I have a goldfish!” Fiona cried.
“We flushed owah gowdfish down dah potty,” continued the little girl behind Derek, inexorably.
“My grammy flushes spiders down the potty,” offered a sober-faced little girl beside Fiona.
“So does my mommy!” shouted a little boy in the back.
“Use your library voice, Brandon." Mrs. Hennessey flipped pages loudly. "Let’s read our story, okay?”