Laverne and Squirrelly

I forget how peaceful it is here at Freeman House. I forget, that is, until I venture into the city.

Still nursing my over-exerted temper from yesterday, I decide this morning that I'd head some 45 minutes away and find Old Navy. And Starbucks. (Have you tried those new green tea frappuccinos?? Omgosh... they are fabulous. No way they can be healthy. No way.)

So I knock out all the prerequisite errands first. At Cingular -"why does my phone say 'Emergency Only' every time I try to make a call????".... At Target - "I bought this jacket for fall, but didn't realize I'd look like the Guinness Book of World Records' biggest pumpkin in it. Can I exchange for sweats???".... At Lowe's - "How come I can't find the faucets that mount to the wall? Oh, they're special order? Oh, they start at $470? Maybe I'll just have the plumber run a water hose to my fancy new bathroom sink."

You know, the usual.

Ah, but then - hoo boy! To Old Navy I excitedly drove. I even sang:

"Over the overpass and through the traffic...
To shopping bliss I go!
The car knows the way
To brighten my day,
And save me lots of dough....oh!"

See, I told you I needed to get out.

So, I arrive finally, only to realize in stupified horror that it's TAX FREE WEEKEND. Omgosh. I picked the worst day of the entire year to shop in Texas.

Crap.

But I went in. Immediately, I was greeted by the deafening roar of teens fighting with parents, desperate mothers on cell phones - (honey, do you want low waist or boot cut jeans?), and kids whining.

Man, I'm glad I don't have kids.

I turn around and left, and on the way to my car, this guy driving this enormous truck yells something about me hurrying to my car. He even did this gesture that I think was supposed to compel me, hurriedly, to my car.

In fact, it did compel me, hurriedly, to my car.

I went through the drive-thru at Starbucks and was back home in 3 hours. And no sooner had I opened the passenger door to unload my new Lowe's sink did I hear another couple arguing. Loudly.

It was Laverne and Squirrelly.

Or at least, that's what I call them. Laverne and Squirrelly are squirrels who live in this gigantic tree just off the kitchen and herb garden of Freeman House. I figure they're close to retirement, but that's only because they sound just like George Castanza's parents on Seinfeld. I mean, these guys really get into it with each other.

So I stood there, balancing the fancy sink on my car, and stared up at them.

"Hey, Squirrelly," I yelled. (At least I think it was Squirrelly. He's the one who's usually running his mouth. Just like a man.)

"If you don't lay off her, Laverne's gonna pull a Desperate Housewives move on you and kill your furry butt," I admonished.

He shut up.

And then, in the quiet, I realized. I'm talking to squirrels. Squirrels I've named Laverne and Squirrelly. I just bought a sink. I voluntarily walked out of an Old Navy without spending a dime.

Well, it was only a matter of time.

I think I'm going crazy. And I also think I'm officially loving this country life.