Turn up Your Miracle Ear

Five o’clock and my husband has just gotten home, grocery bags in hand. The greyhound is leaping and jumping in goofy paroxysms of joy. Glad my husband is home, and really glad about the groceries. Everything and anything we bring home must be for the greyhound. It just as to be.

I wander out of the office and my husband says, “I see the greyhound has found the bag of snakes.”

Eh? “He found what? Snakes?”

Husband continues on into the kitchen, giddy greyhound prancing at his heals. “I see the greyhound has found the bag of stakes.”

I’m standing in the living room, looking stupid, an expression which is effortless.

Stakes? As in garden? Or have we been beset with vampires?

And then, palm slap to forehead, “D’oh. Steaks, steaks.”

I’m either going deaf or senile.