Winston is having his teeth cleaned tomorrow. The vet has to anesthetize him for the procedure, for obvious reasons. So Winston began fasting at 6 p.m., and 35 minutes into it, he’s doing OK. I give him 17 more minutes before he starts whining. Yup, 17 minutes tops. And then he will whine until tomorrow at 9 a.m. when we drop him off at the vet’s.

Greg, who hasn’t been very busy at work lately, is working late tonight for some reason. Hmmm, what could that reason be? Maybe it’s just a coincidence that he’s working late while Winston is starving, but anyone who has spent much time with Winston knows that this is no coincidence.

Last night Sarah and I had a Chipotle pepper and chicken soup. We had some leftover pepper, so Sarah decided to make some salsa. Nearing the end of the salsa making, she decided to add some more lime juice. After putting some in, she began to fumble the bottle, then squirted herself in the eye, raised her hands to cover her face, dropped the bottle onto her foot where it then fell onto the floor, broken and oozing onto the tile. Abe came over to clean up, but after one lick went the other way. I asked her if she was ok. “No,” she said half laughing and half crying, “I’m hurt on so many levels.”

When Greg and I went to the grocery store today, we parked across from a Jeep Cherokee. The Cherokee has been redesigned, and this was the first new one we had seen.

“That looks different,” Greg said.

“It looks more like a mail truck,” I said.

“You thought it looked female before?” Greg asked.

I paused, considered his comment, and smiled when I realized the confusion.

“Nevermind,” I said. “This conversation has been a complete failure. In writing, this conversation might have worked, but not spoken.”

We got out of the car. Greg still looked a little confused.

“OK, I’ll try again,” I said. “That new Jeep looks more like a postal truck to me.”

“Ahhhh,” Greg said, the light bulb turning on.

I’m going to blame the whole thing on the rain, because it is, for once, raining here.