A few days left

Last night I went to dinner with some girlfriends and had a great time. We went to The Palace, which is my favorite restaurant (and where I went with Henrietta the Cheapskate the day after Thanksgiving. I never finished that story, did I?). For once, I wasn't driving, so I drank a bit too much. Not so much that I can't function today, but more than I should have. No, I didn't drink all the cocktails in the picture, just the Cajun Martini. That's the one in the front with two big peppers in it.

After the last few days, I'm pretty sure I've gone over my point limit for Weight Watchers. Oh well. Life is short, and I'm not going to gain back 25 pounds in a week. I'll just start back up today, and who knows how much I'll have taken off by next Spring.

Christmas day was nuts; I got up in the dark, took a shower, and was on the road back to my Mom's house by 7 am. I got to my mother's by 8:48. My brother was about a half an hour late. We waited for him, although my mother had said to me the day before,"well, if you aren't there by 9, we'll start without you." I don't know why she gets so keyed up about stuff like that.

The other silly drama happened actually the day before. See, my sister and I both have dogs. Mine is a big old wimp, and as submissive as they come. Basically this means he gets along with most other dogs, because he has no need to be an Alpha male. I call him the Zeta dog.

My sister's dog, on the other hand, is very assertive. My sister was always worried about the two of them in the same room, so for a year and a half, they never met. Silly, in my opinion, but whatever. Finally, last summer, the two dogs met... and they could not have been less interested in the other. Basically just ignored each other.

So, last week, I told my mom my plan to drive to L.A. with Charlie on Christmas Eve, spend the night, and then come back the next day, stopping off at my house to drop my wonder dog off, and pick up all the presents.

"Oh, don't you want Charlie here? I got him a stocking."
"But what about Indy? Don't you not want the two of them together?"
"I think it will be fine. They got along fine last time, didn't they?"
"um... okay."

See, Mom has this horrific fear of dog fights. Even though the dogs have been together several times, and last time it was at my sister's house, my mother still gets skittish when there's any chance of a problem. As a child she witnessed her own dog kill another one, and understandably, she doesn't want to ever see something like that happen again.

But, she was encouraging me to bring Charlie? Okay, I thought, great.

So, Saturday, I decided to bring the presents all over before I left for L.A. You know, so I'd just drive straight from Carol's house to my mother's house, and I wouldn't have to tempt anyone with boxes of presents in my parked car. I call Mom on my way over there, and she flips out.
"Oh no dear, we can't have Indy and Charlie in the same room. There's food in the stockings."
"What? Mom, didn't you say I should bring my dog?"
"No, I said you'd need to discuss that with your sister."

After gnashing my teeth against my lower lip, and deciding that my mother must sometimes operate in an alternate universe, I tried again.

"Mom, my original plan was to drop Charlie off on my way back tomorrow, before I came over. That and pick up the presents I'm bringing. But I thought you said that I should come straight from Carol's house. I specifically changed my plans, and that's why I'm bringing the presents over now."
"Now? You can't bring Charlie in, Indy's here."

What would you have done, dear reader?

Luckily, before I said something truly rotten, my phone cut out. Sometimes that's not a bad thing.

I got over there, and we tried to avoid the conversation. Mom had locked Indy out on the balcony, which didn't do much for canine relations, but we left pretty quickly.

Oh, and Christmas? The dogs got along famously. Chasing each other around the house, sitting quietly while we were opening presents, and both in the kitchen begging for food.

Every once in a while, my mother gets herself all worked up. It frightens me a little, just because she can be so caustic and cutting. She is such a generous and loving person most of the time; it's always a shock when she lashes out.

My fear is that I do the same thing.