Since my dinner plans cancelled I decided to have creamed tuna on toast tonight, which sent one of my sons-in-law into paroxysms and would have sent the other if he knew about it. But to me it’s comfort food. Except tonight I opened the wrong can—I order salmon and tuna from a cannery in Oregon, and unless you read the label carefully, they look alike. I didn’t read carefully enough and inadvertently made myself creamed salmon. Not bad. A little more fishy, and it needed something to spark it up—even though I doused it liberally with white wine. Not a major oops, and Jacob had already had his pizza bites (see me frown), so it wasn’t a big deal.
The only other news from this front is that a haircut always makes a girl feel better. Sophie and I both had haircuts and shampoos this week—she feels so silky and soft when she’s clean. I can’t say the same is true for me.
Sophie has taken to sleeping, briefly, on my bed. She jumps up, puts her face in my face for loving, then curls at the foot of the bed. Sometimes she stays awhile, sometimes not. I’ve discovered when she goes crazy in the middle of the night and jumps at my bed for attention, all I have to do is pat the bed. She jumps up, comes for loving, curls up at the foot of the bed. When I woke at 8:15 (sinfully late), she was on the dog bed by my bed and stayed there, sound asleep, until after nine.