Welcome To The Jungle

I was in a hurry this morning trying to get Gracie ready to go with me to Toronto so I could pick up Shell and make it to my 2pm class. The dogs were outside and being a pain, not wanting to come inside so I could leave. I've got a squirming baby in one arm with a diaper bag slung over my shoulder and I'm coaxing the dogs inside. The sliding glass door wouldn't close tight enough for the locking mechanism to actually lock (which is the point of a lock...it's right there in the name- lock). So I slam the door which usually works, and it worked this time as well...except.... My right hand was just at an awkward angle and having what my wife calls 'superstrength' I slammed a bit hard and felt something POP...in fact I more than felt it I sort of heard it right after the POP of the door closing. Drawing back my hand my right index finger is sort of, well, at a 45 degree angle from where it is supposed to.... I'm in incredible pain at this point but I have to get the baby down and get the bag off my shoulder. I lay both on the bed. There's no way I can drive anywhere, I can't even buckle the baby in her carseat with my hand inadvertantly giving myself the finger (just one digit off from it, but that's what it sort of looked like)... Gritting my teeth I just popped it back into place... wow that freaking hurt. It's fine now...some swelling and it's a tad tender but at least it points in the right direction now...see! (I'm pointing it at you) At the moment it's raining outside and I've got Curtis Mayfield singing 'People Get Ready' on my iTunes so the day is closing on a really cool high. In the other room I hear my wife scolding Dixie who refused to come inside from the rain and when she finally did shook water everywhere. Personally I think it's retribution for me scheduling her wash and haircut next Tuesday...Dixie can understand 'human' which is why we have to spell a lot of things in front of her. It was good training for parenthood! To emphasize just how much she hates the water...I was bathing Ginny Grace yesterday and the dogs came in to see what was up. They just sort of stare at the baby as if she's crazed or something...'how could you possibly be enjoying that stuff' they seem to say with their eyes. Dixie was trying to get my attention and distract me from my bath duties so I looked at her and said 'your bath is next'...and I swear to you...she turned tail and RAN out of the bathroom. If she had opposable thumbs she'd have possibly hitched a ride out of town (or at the very least booked a flight online- which may or may not require thumbs the more I think about it). This even after Shell picked me up from my class, we walked down to the bookstore on campus and I got my hands on some of my books for this semester. The bookstore on campus is an evil place. It's no longer owned and operated by the University, which in my capitalist heart I enjoy, but in my selfish meglomanical soul I hate because they just spit on students- metaphoically...though I wouldn't put it past them let me tell you. I generally order my books online which is great because I don't actually have to go INTO the bookstore, I just pick up my order at a counter under the stairs (yeah seriously...it's under the stairs in all its Harry Potterian glory). But for some reason when I went to get my order it was only half filled- my textbook and coursebook for Australian History was not there, neither was one of my Imperial Russia books which I needed because I have to read it by Tuesday. The guy at the counter, let's call him Napolean Dynamite, cuz that's who he looked like and had the same joie de vie...y'know, pure houseplant. Anyway he mumbled incoherently for about 5 minutes until I wrangled from him the fact that my books were on backorder. Except, as it turns out, only ONE of those missing books was on backorder, the other 2 were in the labyrinth from Hell (aka Koffler Centre Bookstore, proper). We venture inside, risking the mental health of my offspring, passing some kitsch stuff like the "Freudian Slippers" (which to be honest for twelve seconds I almost wanted) and the stuffed Ghandi dolls (which is too ironic for words)...after the sort of search that would require a sherpa on a good day, I found my books and we beat a hasty retreat to the safety of downtown traffic. So now I've got a sore finger, a wet mutt, a traumatized 1 yr-old, a tired wife, and 200 pages of 19th century Russian literature to read... but at least my slipper-less feet still have their dignity!