Hippogriff Thursday

Brax,

It's Hippogriff Thursday. As everyone knows, in the Harry Potter world, a Hippogriff should be approached in a very specific way in order to avoid enraging the animal. You have to maintain eye contact, because Hippogriffs are suspicious. You have to bow before them, because they're proud and easily offended. Delicious snacks, such as dead ferrets, should be in easy reach. This way, if you inadvertently offend the Hippogriff, you can immediately placate it with snacks.

It's Hippogriff Thursday because I am intensely, ravenously premenstrual. It's best to approach me with all the caution and delicacy you would show a Hippogriff. Make eye contact. Bowing wouldn't hurt. Snacks are essential.

Things are a little more high-pressure than normal, because Matt is graduating from law school this weekend, which means that my grandma is coming to DC, which means that I have to clean my house real, real good because she is the kind of lady who looks in your closet. I only have one closet, Brax. How could it possibly be clean?

I spent the afternoon wanting to kill people, staring at things that needed dusting as though they'd been shit-talking me around town, and staring at my knitting as though it were a favorite son who, fresh from his 3rd DUI, would like to borrow 40 dollars so he could take Randi to the Red Lobster to celebrate her new job at the I.G.A.

Then I got motivated, and I was doing the dishes and listening to Annie Lennox. I was feelin' pretty good. I was really rocking the part of "Money Can't Buy It" where's she's like,

"Now hey everybody pay attention to me
Cause I'm a rich white girl and it's plain to see
I got every little thing that-a money can buy
Let me tell you all about it let me amp-li-fy
I got DIAMONDS, you heard about those
I got so many that I can't close my-yyyy safe
at night in the dark..." etc.

So obviously I was totally rocking out and singing about my diamonds and having as much fun as you can have while you're doing the dishes. Then Matt came into the kitchen holding a planner and a letter from the bank, both of which were mine, and said the following insulting, enraging, infuriating thing: "Where should I put these?"

I mean OH MY GOD CAN YOU BELIEVE HIM? So I was like, "I don't KNOW." And he said, get this, Brax, he said, "Well, we should figure something out."

He said it like we needed to clean because we had company coming or something. Chuh.

So of course I stomped over to him and jerked the letter and the planner out of his hand and went into the bedroom, where I opened and closed every drawer in the room before yelling "THERE IS NOWHERE TO PUT ANYTHING, YOU CAN'T PUT ANYTHING AWAY IN THIS STUPID HOUSE BECAUSE THERE IS NOWHERE TO PUT ANYTHING!" And then I threw the planner and the letter under the mattress because that was obviously the only place to put them.

And then I went back to the kitchen and sighed the heavy, rich sigh of a sacrificing woman because, in the course of my ingenious problem-solving, I'd missed "Little Bird."

Hippogriff Thursday.

Please, Lord, don't let there be a Hippogriff Friday.

-Bruce