NM brought it up and I feel like she might be right. The Red-Headed Kid could be a brownie. Not a baby Girl Scout, but a house elf.
Today, in the middle of the day, he came over, convinced the dog to shit, did my dishes, and cleaned the living room.
Why did he do these things? I don’t know. But it’s pretty damn awesome.
I was trying to get both the cat and the dog into the frame, but failed. but the thing on my lap is also resting on the dog’s head. This is how we have to do it these days. Everyone must be right on top of me, because I might someday leave and not come back.
Did I tell you that, when we got home from my parents’, the dog ran to every room to see if she could find the Butcher and, when she realized he wasn’t there, she went back outside and tried to get back in the car?
I’m the paltry second prize. But a second prize they’re willing to fight over.
The Butcher is coming home, though. So, that should make these guys happy. I’m happy, too. And sad for him. I’m glad he was brave enough to try for something he wanted and I’m sorry it didn’t turn out how he hoped.
I got to hear my dad preach again on Sunday. He’s taken a position at a church just quarter-time. I guess he’s been doing it about a year. He goes in once a month and leads the service and serves them communion. They take care of their other weeks themselves. I do wonder what that’s like. It’s a part of Methodism that is incredibly common, but I’ve never seen.
Anyway, he preached about the woman who had guided him to be a pastor, who saw something in him he didn’t see in himself. I cried while he preached, because, of all the things I can’t stand about my dad, his insecurity because he believes himself to be basically worthless is the worst.
How can you go your whole life hearing from so many people that you are worthy of being loved and never believe it?
I mean, I know how that is, but I hate it.