The Omen
Unfortunately, The Omen was on TV late last night.
Rachelle, you should know, has been away this weekend. Every month she has a weekend out of town with Stefano, her Brazilian kickboxing instructor, for some special training, and when this happens I’m left to fend for myself. Normally it’s not a problem as Rachelle blocks out all the TV stations that might broadcast scary movies, but she was in a giddy rush this time, and forgot to do that, so last night, at one in the morning, I started to watch The Omen.
Now, I have to preface this by saying that I’ve been sick with a crippling sinus cold, and have been on all sorts of medications that have made me, well, vulnerable.
Right about the time that the father, searching for the mark of the beast on his evil son’s head, clips the boy’s hair, I noticed the dog staring at me. It was not a nice look. It was an evil, superior look. Tranquil and unsettling. I started to yell at her, but she just kept staring at me.
Staring at me.
Staring at me.
I began to drink, as I find being drunk very comforting.
At any rate, the rest is kind of blurry, but I became convinced that Heidi, our miniature Daschund, was the Anti-Christ, and in an effort to find the mark of the beast, shaved her fur off. Thankfully, there was no sign of the devil, or at least none that I could see this morning.
I am not sure what to tell Rachelle about our dog’s missing fur, but I think I’m going with “ she had an allergic reaction after eating half a package of Sinutab.”
