Just North of Whoville by Turiskylie, Joyce (free children's ebooks pdf .TXT) 📗

tastefully decorated and just gave up by wrapping garland around anything that didn’t move and taping cardboard snowflakes and Santas all over the place . I thought that might take me off decorating duties----but they loved it, and handed me more tangled lights and Christmas music. By the end of the week, it looked like a Holiday-themed daycare had exploded.

Celia had called, asking about the roof. But as far as I could tell, nothing had been done all week. I could tell, because the rain continued pouring in. Thankfully, the forecast for the weekend looked dry.

Weekends in New York, for some, are relaxing, glamorous, and filled with nightlife, shopping, celebrity-filled benefits, and fine dining in the trendiest new restaurants. I’m sure there are people who do these things. I’ve seen their pictures in the papers.

I’ve also seen those women who just enjoy the simple life. Strolling thru Central Park with their boyfriend or spouse and children. Just enjoying life at a leisurely pace. They look so relaxed and content. Just walking around looking in shop windows and squeezing fruit at the Farmer’s Markets. Like they’re regular human beings. And I don’t think they’re tourists. Tourists are bigger and wear sweatshirts. These are the happy locals, enjoying all that New York City has to offer.

Then there are people like me---for whom a day off work is nothing more than a huge list of errands---most of which never even get done.

No leisurely stroll thru Soho for this gal. The wet towels were really starting to stink. Heidi’s dirty paw prints were everywhere---though Heidi was nowhere to be found. And something that looked suspiciously like mold appeared to be growing on the floor boards. I’d have to do something about that, even though Monday’s forecast predicted rain.

But you can’t just let mess pile upon mess. That’s how those garbage houses get started. One day you look at your dirty dishes in the sink and think, “I can do those tomorrow.”

Next thing you know, it’s two years later and a Haz Mat crew from a reality show is going in with gas masks and rubber gloves while you’re standing on the front lawn next to a bunch of old appliances, some used car parts and Fred Sandford talking to the local news. “I don’t know why my neighbors are complaining. They just have it out for me. Me and my rats.”

Yes, I knew it might possibly rain on Monday. But you’ve got to start somewhere. While the moldy towels were in the washer at the Laundromat down the street, I stopped by the pet store nearby to pick up my bi-weekly purchase of cat food and a large bag of cat litter.

Oh yeah----The Glamorous Life.

I glanced at the pet store bulletin board on my way out. Missing cats. Free cats. Purebred cats for sale. Cats, cats, cats. There were some flyers advertising apartments for rent. All at least five times the amount I was paying---and I could barely afford that. And then behind a flyer for “Cat Acupuncture and Holistic Therapy” I saw something that caught my eye. “Dog Walkers Wanted”.

I could walk a dog. I felt fairly confident that after having taken several of my friends’ dogs out for walks in the park, that I could walk a dog. Maybe I had a skill after all. I know it doesn’t sound like much. But it was enough to take over my fantasy world for an entire Sunday afternoon as I scrubbed mold off the woodwork and cleaned out the cat box.

Forget nasty, rude people----it would be just me and the dogs. Fresh air, sunshine, and doggie play dates in the park.

Life was going to get better. I just knew it.

The funny thing is, whenever I had a thought like that----that’s when it always got worse.

It started on my way to work the next morning when I saw Shoeless Joe shuffling down the aisle in his tootsies. For someone who hadn’t had a pair of shoes in four years, his feet were in pretty good shape.

Most commuters just ignored him as he passed. Like me, they’d caught on to his little game. But a tourist or two always reached into their pocket. The lady sitting next to me handed him a dollar. I said nothing. Nothing. But she looked at me as if I were the Anti-Christ.

“The poor man has no shoes,” she said accusingly at me, as if I’d taken his sneakers at gunpoint.

“Mmm-hmm,” I merely nodded, simply acknowledging a fact. It is true that he doesn’t have any shoes----at this moment.

“That’s the problem with you New Yorkers,” she said haughtily as she pulled out a map of the city. “You’re all so selfish.”

I don’t know why people open their mouths when they’re in total shock, but I think it’s because their mouths are poised to say something. And I had something to say.

“Uh….ma’am,” I began formally and precisely. “He never has any shoes.”

I don’t know what I expected in response, but it certainly wasn’t, “You people are sick!!!”

She said this loudly as the train came to a halt and she stormed off at her stop. Commuters looked up at me over their morning papers, wondering what horrible, sickening thing I’d said to the nice lady as Shoeless Joe moved onto the next car of suckers.

“I’m sorry,” I tried to meekly explain. “But he never has any shoes.”

They looked at me like I was crazy for even caring what she thought. Or even giving two second’s thought to Shoeless Joe. Why did I care? Why should they care? They went back to reading their papers.

My work day was no better. I’d recently noticed that a sighting of Shoeless Joe was always a bellwether for a bad day.

After work, as I trudged up the five flights of stairs, my cell phone rang.

“Yes!” I answered