I’m trying a new technique that the Y-chromosomed folk in my immediate family have perfected: selective hearing. Doodles is proving that it’s a skill the men are simply born with; I plan to prove that it can also be acquired.
For instance, right now Doodles is sitting in his favorite perch–behind the cushion on our living room chair–and he’s saying desperately, as if his life depended on it, “Signing Times! Signing Times,” which is his favorite video series. Doodles, however, is allowed between a half hour and one hour of television a week, and I’m not about to blow that at 8:39 in the morning midweek. So while I can hear perfectly when he says, “Stuck! Stuck!” as tend to happen when he gets behind the cushions and his feet get stuck between the back of the chair and the bottom cushions, I don’t hear at all the tearful, “Signing Times! Signing Times!”
Of course, I haven’t quite figured out what we are going to do of day five of Nor’Easter weather. I finally relented and pulled Doodles’s winter coat back out. Digressing a little here, I, the consummate Floridian, like warmth. It’s just ingrained. And yet I have this total objection to turning on the heat in May, never mind May that is not even a week shy of June. Adam thinks this is ridiculous and has no qualms turning on the heat whenever he feels cold. However, since I’m having such success with my selective hearing experiment on Doodles, I think Adam will be my next victim. You told me to turn the heat on an hour ago? Oh, I’m sorry, I simply didn’t hear you.
