Baseline Compliment

Mr. Peevie is clever, but also a tiny bit evil.

I have been working like a Hebrew slave this week on a grant proposal for zillions of dollars for child welfare and substance abuse programs in Florida and Illinois. I have been staying up past midnight writing, editing and researching. During the days I have been working as well, plus juggling the camp and play-date schedules and transportation of three kids going six different directions, not to mention the snack, entertainment, and clothing needs of the seven or eight extra kids that always somehow end up in our house.

Not to complain, or anything, because I really do have the best, most blessed life on the planet, but there has been a pinch of stress on my delicate nerves. What's worse, I'm working so hard that I haven't even been able to do much in the way of stress relief, which for me means watching a bloody, violent movie or maybe an episode or two of Angel or Buffy on DVD.

So in the middle of all this, when he notices a frayed edge of a nerve peeking out of my normally serene composure, Mr. Peevie gets all sweet and compassionate, wraps his bearish arms around me, and looks gently into my eyes. "I'm sorry you've had to work so hard this week, sweetie," he says to me, all sincere; and then WHAMMO: "...I mean, you know, compared to your baseline!" Ba dum, dum.

And you thought he was all sweetness and light. Now you know the cold, hard truth: Mr. Peevie can sling a barb like a scorpion in the desert.