In my email tonight, I kid you not:

ERECTILE! We been seeking your face to ask of it, do you wishes the member to stand forth proudly as it has been (not) since the ravages of time marches on and on and on and on? Tell us so, ERECTILE, for Cialus tell us otherwise, your needing of it well known. Not Nigerian treasure-seekers we, but concerned with your member and it’s societal functions and self esteem. Reply to this missive before you retire this night, and sleep with ease as you anticipate the postman’s coming. Erectile once more, may be our credo.

Now, what does it tell you about me, and what does it tell me about myself, that the part of this email that annoyed me the most was the “it’s.” Wrong, Wrong, Wrong.

Okay, anticipating the postman’s coming might be bothering me a little bit. I really didn’t need to know about his personal habits.

Cialis, please try to hire some smarter spammers. I’ll still delete them without looking most of the time, and I’ll still hate you because you’re nothing but a spammer, but at least it would be one less poorly-written grammatical horror for me to read over the weekend.

P.S. Could I see a picture of this postman before I make a final decision?

What time is it now? Almost 6 p.m., you say? Oh, wow, I’ve been up almost. . . .three hours. Maybe I should take a shower and get dressed.

I love Saturday.

Why, how long have YOU been up? Really?

Do you have little kids? That explains it.

Some of you don’t? And you didn’t have to go to work?

Why would you get up early if you didn’t have to?

One of the great mysteries of our time.

The cat seems to be feeling better. I’m supposed to be forcing his pill down the back of his throat by hand because apparently they taste so terrible no animal in its right mind would willingly swallow it. I’m supposed to be administering a liquid antibiotic by mouth twice a day, via a thing that looks like a hypodermic needle. And I’m supposed to be dropping medication into his ears.

In reality, what I’m doing is wrapping that pill in raw hamburger and putting it in a bowl. Then I douse the hamburger with the antibiotic. The cat goes for this cocktail like a moth to a flame and even licks the bowl clean. (Don’t worry, I rinse it off real thoroughly in nice cold water before I put it back in the cabinet.) And while he’s licking the pink antibiotic off the sides of the bowl, I squirt him in the ears with the other stuff.

I was never one for doing things conventionally.

I’m more than a little bit upset with the cat, though. I know he’s been sick, and I understand about the diarrhea and vomiting and all. But he won’t be spending much time inside the house for a while, other than to eat his hamburger cocktail, because when I went to pick up my good lavender sweater off the bathroom floor yesterday, I noticed, and just in the nick of time, too, that. . . .

Well, let’s just say that my sweater is soaking in the sink as we speak, and you probably don’t really want to know why.