Thursday, September 10, 2009

Fine



Fine.

Hi everyone, Katie here.

Fine. That's my word for the day. Fine. In fact, let's make it my word for the month. Fine. So as you know, Monday was my birthday. And it was also Glogirly & Gloman's anniversary. Do you think either of them would have the common decency to acknowledge or even remember my birthday? Fine. I give and give and give and what do I get in return? Fine.

Every anniversary, every Christmas, every single holiday, I make the effort to give each of them a card. And do you think they ever bother to reciprocate? Fine. It's not easy picking out a card when you're a cat. And that's nothing compared to the pain and suffering of writing in the card. Longhand no less. I guess my unending love and thoughtfulness that knows no bounds has once again gone unnoticed. Fine.


Just look at the beautiful card I gave Glogirly for her anniversary. It's got a pretty pink chair on it, a plush pink pillow WITH tassels and what I consider to be an absolutely exquisite cat. That's me you know. Fine. On the inside in red magic marker I wrote a heartfelt greeting, in my own words mind you, not copied from some cheesy book of poetry dribble.


Granted my penmanship is less than perfect, but it's the thought and effort that counts. The following is presented for your review. It is a transcript of the above mentioned card greeting.

Fine,
No one ever rembers my birthday, yet how many cards have I (underlined twice) had to scratch something out in? Well...have a happy anniversary anyway. For your present I'll just keep pretending (to be friendly.)
Love Katie ...and thanks 4 MY (underlined twice) special dinner 2nite.

The two of them dined lavishly on lobster with drawn butter, beef tenderloin with herbed mushrooms, asparagus tips with hollandaise, a lovely caprese salad and champagne.



Yes, champagne. Fine. I'll just have my gingivitis food, thank you. Oh no, no, don't go to any bother and prepare something special for MY birthday. I'm just fine. Fine.


After they finished listening to their sappy romantic love songs from the 70's...the kind of crap that Tony Orlando peddles for Time Life on some stupid infomercial, I thought the evening was finally over.


That's when the pie came out. Strawberry rhubarb. With whip cream. And a dusting of cinnamon. Thanks a lot, I'll just have a drink of stale water from my pathetic dish.

Fine.

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