I stand bleary eyed by the kitchen counter sipping black tepid coffee. [translation = my punishment for being distracted] I contemplate life, the universe and everything, as I watch small people at 5:15 in the morning. Wills, living wills, trusts, trustees and guardians, power of attorney – enough to make your head spin and your brain turn to mush.
“If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all!” he repeats as he runs backwards. This phrase is on his 'now playing' list. [translation = an endless loop] I hope that this current phase, will be short lived, but you never can tell with these things, the walking backwards that is to say, not the “motor mouth.” Oddly enough he rarely bumps into anything. To date we are on our fifth week of' backwards' and of course he improves daily. [translation = becomes ever more agile and speedy] It seems grossly unfair to criticize him for such an innocent pastime, since my main objection, danger, has been unsubstantiated by reality.
So saying, he did take a tumble this morning, but that was due to foul play. [translation = in the feline sense of foul] I intend to give those cats a severe talking to! Fancy having the nerve to nip through someone's legs when the walker is in motion! [translation = not everyone has yet learned to walk 'a la John Wayne,' as I have done.]
I put down my cold coffee for later and interject in the hope of turning my naked backwards walker into a dressed backwards walker. He makes his objections known, in no uncertain terms. His criticisms are not those of his peers, such as colour, design or fashion. He curses his clothing like none other –
“These pants are insane! Why aren't they Latin?” [translation = they are uncomfortable because they are not sufficiently old and worn to softness]