Thwack and his groupie Smack

R-r-r-ring. R-r-r-ing. RantWoman's cellphone was going off at an hour on Sunday morning when usually the only person who ever calls RantWoman is Little Sister.

R-r-r-ring. R-r-r-ing.

Hello. Huh?

RantWoman was disoriented and it took her several tries to realize the voice on the phone was not Little Sister but Wingnut, one of the Weed Whackin Wenches. The Wenches had to get Diva Dog her final rest a few weeks back and they are both seriously grieving. On top of that Curmudgeon was recently served up a delightful bureaucratic miracle cure of the form

"Dear Recipient of our services,

You have been receiving our services for nearly two decades. However, we have lost a key piece of documentation that proves you are entitled to this service, so you are no longer eligible...." Curmudgeon received this emanation earlier that week afternoon but there was nothing to be done--except worry and dither--until Monday. So Curmudgeon was seriously bumming and Wing Nut was only a bit better.

Could RantWoman come for dinner? RantWoman was booked for dinner with RantMom but could definitely come over for the afternoon. RantWoman too found herself sighing as she walked down the walkway to the Wenches' apartment: Time was when RantWoman did not have to worry about knocking because Diva Dog would dutifully alert and bark. Then Diva Dog's hearing started to go and she would only bark energetically when RantWoman had already gotten to the door and the Wenches opened it. This time of course there was no Diva Dog at all.

Curmudgeon was not quite curled up into a fetal position but close. RantWoman assured everyone no one had to talk. Sometimes rantWoman has this gift of just being able to sit and be present. The Wenches even laughed when RantWoman pronounced that what was needed was sitting shiva for Diva Dog. No one is Jewish so apologies if we did it wrong. We just needed time to sit and do little except drink tea and talk remember the recently deceased Diva Dog and two feline buddies who passed sometime back.

As noted above, one of the things putting Curmudgeon in a funk was her latest experience of the bureaucratic miracle cure. The bureaucratic miracle cure occurs when a monstrous bureaucracy loses track of some key piece of information and then declares that one no longer needs the services of the monstrous bureaucracy because one has miraculously been cured of some condition previously thought to be permanent,. .This phenomenon is especially delightful when it involves some monstrous bureaucracy with its talons into something important like one's income stream

As the tea flowed, the conversation meandered to visitations to the vast bureaucracy vexing Curmudgeon. Turns out, not only had the Wenches visited its office, Curmudgeon was considering naming options for her cane. Curmudgeon obviously is friends with RantWoman. The first optin that had come to mind was "Smack." Curmudgen and Wing Nut at first thought "Smack" would be a wonderful name. when they stopped giggling they realized, um, maybe NOT. RantWoman is SO relieved; probably they will be okay!