I almost had to throw down with Purse today. Seriously. I went out to feed the geese and Shoe showed up. He was looking a little peaked, so I hopped the fence and ventured down to the water's edge for a closer look. To further convince you of my ass-backwards view of life, I was only scared of the geese. Anyway, yeah, it appears that Shoe is sick. His coloring is off and his beady little eyes are clouded and dull. I'm going to do a little research and see if I can get someone to come over here to capture him and nurse him back to health before releasing him somewhere far, far away from vicious and dirty humans.

This really has nothing to do with the near confrontation and I have no idea why I am still writing about it.

Anyway, the geese started hissing and I just knew they were planning some kind of ritual mutilation or blood-drinking, so I climbed back over the fence.

Here is when Purse showed up.

Long story short, the Canadian goose was standing right by the water and Purse started creeping towards her. Now, Purse is only three feet and it's doubtful he could wrap his jaws around the goose, but still. He could hurt her. The geese may be the devil's fowl, but they're currently under my care. And I'm kinda, sorta very protective over them. Shut up.

You know that feeling you get when your body and mind are getting ready to decide fight or flight? Yeah. I pressed myself against the fence and watched. When Purse was a foot away from the goose, I was on the fence, ready to jump down there and do god knows what. Seriously. What would I have done? Rassle the alligator while the goose fled to safety? I don't know. I did have a very large stick, though.

Luckily, Purse swam off and I began to seriously question my personal definition of stupidity. And wonder why I know so goddamn much about how alligators attack and how to fend one off.

God.

Anyway, enough of that. I'm sick of alligators.

Dinner with the family was OK, even though I actually shuddered when I saw all these people eating all this meat. That has never, in the ten years I've been a vegetarian, happened before and I may mark this on my calendar.

One Wet Leg left me a note this afternoon suggesting that I watch the two year old, as one can learn a lot from kids of that age. I kept thinking about that throughout the course of the dinner and took her advice.

Here is what I learned: Play with knives, steal drinks from beer bottles when no one is looking, and smear ketchup on anyone who tells you no. Then laugh. Loudly. I think that is a pretty solid credo for which to live your life.

He would stare at me with this little smile and whenever he would walk past my chair (he liked to wander), he would carefully touch my arm. I think he is my new favorite cousin. Except I'm not sure if he is my cousin. He's family, definitely (um, beer and knives and restlessness? sounds like an X), but what is my cousin's son to me? I tried to ask my dad this but he couldn't give me answers. Observe.

Molly- So that kid is my cousin?

Dad- Second cousin.

Molly- But what about that weird guy at the hospital who kept staring at me and saying I was gorgeous? I thought he was my second cousin?

Dad- Yeah. My cousin is your second cousin.

Molly- But that kid isn't your cousin. He's your...great nephew? OHMYGOD! GEEZER! HAHAHAHA.

Dad- Please leave me alone.

Confusing. Yes. My brain hurts.

Anyway, my real cousin and I plan on going to the flea market on Saturday. She plans on bringing her baby, which is OK by me, cuz he likes to drool and not much else.

I have decided that, at the flea market, I will find something that will change my life. I am not sure what this something will be, but I am positive I will find it.

Keep your fingers crossed that it will be a cursed monkey paw.

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