Today, I met someone named Crash. As a trained botanist, he made a house call to examine Shamu Butterpot, P.I., who is apparently living and healthy after all. Who knew? If you are a plant and start turning brown and shedding leaves, I think it is natural that people worry you are dying. The sad diagnosis was that my other (older) plant is not so lucky. Not being as glamorous as Shamu, it does not have a name, which is perhaps why it has been so droopy lately.

That, and the overwatering and everything.

Crash is a delightful boy and my new friend. I have been so friendly lately, I could just die. And since every action has an equal and opposite reaction, someone just might.

This evening, my former boyfriend’s sister came to town with her husband and new baby. Although Michael and I broke up two years ago, I still consider Margaret and Sam to be dear family. This was the first time I met baby Ben, who has the most powerful set of lungs ever to evolve in this plane of existence. Lauri and I (and Rob, for a while) babysat Ben while his parents went out to dinner. To soothe him, I went through every song in my repertoire, including the themes from “The Dukes of Hazzard,” “The Jeffersons,” and “WKRP in Cincinnati.”

He was not amused.

I wonder if Crash would have been.

Note to self: find this out next time.