Bury Bailey at Wounded Knee

Mom didn't want me to leave. Even though I had taken out her trash, walked Bailey, attempted to unfold a chair, and got her a new as-yet-unchewed pair of glasses, Mom wanted me to stay and talk a spell. No matter how irrelevant or ridiculous. 

"Um, Greg, what does Todd think of Roe v. Wade?"

I stopped at the door. "Ways to cross a river, I guess."

"Oh," Mom said, with great sadness.

"Are you okay, Mom?"

"I'm just tired. I [swallowing yawn] really [ummmrrr gh] mm! I'm... sorry... I'm not sleeping well."

"Are you still sleeping in your chair? Why not sleep in your bed?"

"I can't! Bailey is a beast in the bed!"

"Have you tried telling her you have a headache?"

"OWWW! Bailey, you... OWWWW! Stop it! She's chewing my toes again. It really hurts!"

"Maybe if you went into the bedroom with her as she seems to want... Anyway, I'm going to get going."

"No! Wait, what does Todd think of the Ukraine situation?"

"He's for it."

"Don't leave. Wait. Oh, for my funeral, I want you to play James Taylor. Will you promise to do that?"

"Okay. But I can't promise that I'll be there, then."

"You're not leaving me, are you?"

"Just for today, Mom."

"Will you promise me to do that for my funeral? I mean about James Taylor."

"I don't know if we'll be able to handle his unique blend of bittersweet folk rock. Maybe if he goes unplugged."

"Oh, if you could get him to play in person that would be even better."

"I'll have my people get on it. Anyway--" 

"AHHHGGHH! Bailey, STOP it! Owww. Now she's chewing my knee. Stop it!"

"Now your knee is wounded." I turn to you. "Get it?" I point up at the blog title. "Mm?"

"Can't you stay with your old mom for a few more minutes?" Mom said, rubbing her massacred knee. "What does Todd think of Pat?"

"Todd got a soggy butt riding his bike to work in a snowstorm. That's where he and I differ. The earth comes second to my butt."

Mom nodded. Then she let forth with a giant yawn. "ARGGmmmm-Errrhggh!" 

"Anyway..."

"Wait, wait. What does, er, Pat think of Todd? Will you just sit with me for another ten seconds?"

"Okay." With a sigh I sat down. "Ten..."

"So." 

Mom smiled. Bailey frowned.

"Yep."

"Mm."

"Okay. Good talk." I slapped my thighs, preparatory to leaving. "Peace ow--"

"Owww! Bad, Bailey! Stop that!"

"I'm going, Mom."

"Wait, wait. Don't go. Didn't you go to the museum recently? How did that go?"

"I went to the museum, yes. In fact, I have some pictures from my trip. Would you like to see them?"

The studio audience clapped and cheered and booed. 

We went to the Egyptian thingy, and learned how to walk like an Egyptian. Then I threw out my King Tut, if you know what I mean.

"The original Cribs, when you think about it."

Back in October 1888, I was a security guard at the museum. There was a Colossus of Ramses II and I told people not to touch me. Or it. It was a very rewarding job.

"And here we have an exhibit of a stuffed dork in a security uniform 

staring into the middle distance and making six dollars an hour."

Then we toured other exhibits. Here's a dinosaur trying to leave his mother.

"Thank God James Taylor won't be born for another sixty million years!"

Here we have an adorable child ruining a work of art. DOWN IN FRONT

"Can't Cartouche This"--By MC Nefertiti.

Then we got some nature, but without all that nature in it.

"They found me already dead. Yes. That's what we'll go with..."

Mom was gently sleeping with Baily gently chewing on her glasses. All was well. I let myself out and then buried myself. Mm? Mm?