November 13, 2005

Report: Sunday Mornings

Our Sundays are mostly pretty routine.

In the morning the Pirate makes his Famous Omelets (Famous House-Wide!)... 2-3 eggs, folded around a mix of some sort of cheese, sauteed mushrooms and onions, bacon, and some sort of al dente green veg (favorites are brocolli, green beans, sugar snap peas or fresh baby spinach). I watch the Sunday-morning national news shows and generally laze about during this entire process, having already spent a certain amount of time wrestling with my email.

We eat our Sunday Omelets while watching a video together - our current fare is viewing in consecutive order the season dvd's of various series, rented from our local video store. We then sit about gently digesting until it's time to go to my folks' house.

At the moment 'the time' to go there is just in time for the Professor and the Pirate to watch the Vikings' Loss du Jour, while Dances With Vampire and I chat and drink tea and prepare dinner (the teamwork aspect has been hampered somewhat by poor DWV having become wheelchair-bound after her ankle was viciously attacked by a log, but we soldier on).

The Vampire now spends most of his Sunday afternoon and evening attached limpet-like to the television in the Professor's home office, due to his grandparents now having given in to the blandishments of Satellite Television and the History Channel; he does occasionally emerge in order to stuff his face, but that's about it until 9pm, when he calls his girlfriend and engages in worship of her until it is time to go home. We roust him from his Den, drag him to the car, and return home to face the wrath of The Cat, who engages in Suck Ears ("You Suck!") and turns her back on us ("Talk to the Butt!") until one of us sits on the ottoman and the Territorial Imperative forces her to speak to us in order to assert her ownership.

And that's it. Our Sundays. The only relatively predictable day of the week.

Aren't you glad you know?


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