I peel the case off an overstuffed pillow. It is too snug; the pillow fights like a fat kid. I shake the lump up and down until my eyes burn and my thumbs hurt, and finally the naked pillow plops to the floor. It’s like undressing an Oompa Loompa. Drunk.

I start to strip the second pillow, and the rustling in the air is a Bat-Signal. Tweak bounds onto the bed.

Tweak: “I AM HERE!”

She stands proud, toes splayed, tail lashing the air like a cape.

Tweak: “I am here to save the day!”

Me: “Cool. Grab the edge of that blanket and bring it towards me.”

Tweak: “You mean, like THIS?”

She leaps onto the blanket and stabs it with her cotton-ball hands as if “cute” were her super power.

Me: “You’re not helping.”

Tweak: “Oh, I think I am.”

She dives onto the other corner, spins 180°, and sticks the landing.

Tweak: “TA DA!”

Me: “Move over, Mary Lou.”

I roll the blankets down to the foot of the bed, uncovering the sheets. I turn back to find a swaddled quivering lump. It seems to be giggling.

I whip off the top sheet. Tweak stares up at me, her white hair at static attention like a crazed genius, her dopey face betraying her intellectual famine.

Tweak: “How did you find me?!”

Me: “Super heroes don’t giggle.”

She licks a paw and rubs it over her head, smoothing her Einstein into a Clark Kent.

Tweak: “What are you doing, anyway?”

Me: “I’m making the bed.”

Tweak: “It looks like you’re un-making the bed.”

Me: “Yes. And then I will re-make the bed with clean sheets.”

Tweak: “Why? Who is ever going to see it?”

I open my mouth, close it.

Me: “Grab that blanket over there. And hang yourself with it.”

Tweak: “TA DA!”

 

9 July 2014, “Tolerating Tweak”