Bill is a Fabricated American platypus. Right now he’s sitting on the dining room table trying to keep the cat away from the good dishes. He’s doing an admirable job. He didn’t even laugh when I spilled my coffee on the edge of the table, thus soiling the table cloth. He hasn’t even given me the stink eye of not changing the table cloth yet because he knows that I have a lot of soul robbing things to do and haven’t had the time to rearrange the good dishes so I can launder the linens.
He’s very practical and patient.
I guess he is more highly evolved than the rest of us. (A little platypus joke. He thinks it’s hilarious.)
I have been teaching myself to crochet in the evenings. The main reason is to relax myself when my brain is too full from trying to slam out 5,000 word short stories and editing other people’s lengthy tomes.
Every time I walk past the table to my craft tub, (yes there is ONE tiny area of my life that has some semblance of organization. True the various yarns and tools are in a heap, but the said heap is contained in the tub. Bill wants me to name the heap Uriah. Strange sense of humor on that guy.) I notice Bill keep his constant vigilance on the dishes. I always wonder if perhaps he might like a garment, a poncho perhaps. I can’t get him a t-shirt and pants.
That would be ridiculous.