I house sit periodically. Have I talked about this here? The people I house sit for are old family friends are in nearly equal part horrible and wonderful and are enthusiastic RVers . Let’s call them the Winnebagos, with no offense meant to Native Americans. Winnie Winnebago tried to give me giant pants not long ago. They give me twenty bucks for feeding their cats and taking in their mail and scowling at their fondness for leaving all the lights on in the place while they’re out of town. I have very, very mixed feelings about these people and generally express those feelings by the way I spend their money. I like to buy myself margaritas at a restaurant with a history of immigration problems, for instance, and tip the non-English speaking waiter like crazy. Two things those people hate are immigrants and drinking.

They asked me to look after things for them again next weekend. I’m going to seal their twenty dollars in an envelope and send it off as an anonymous donation in their name to my very favorite relief charity so those “Muslim heathens” they claim “God is punishing for 9-11” can have twenty bucks worth of drinking water or food or medical care on their dime.

God, this recent spate hatred of Muslims makes me so sick. It’s everywhere I go lately. I can’t help but get into all these horrible discussions in which I feel obligated to explain Islam isn’t the evil they imagine and in which I am left open-mouthed by people’s irrational hatreds. It’s depressing.

Creeping Sharia, which is something that for some reason alarms Sarah Palin, sounds like a plant that would grow well for lazy gardeners.

In other news, I admired Winnie’s dress on Sunday. It was homemade, and I asked her if she’d lend me the pattern, so I could make myself one. She said she’d look for it, but she came into my office a moment ago to tell me that she’d started making the actual dress for me. She’d leave the hem unfinished, so I could decide on what length to make it. She said she knew I like to wear them mini skirts, and, although she wouldn’t support it, she’d leave the skirt length to my own conscience.

I do not like to wear them mini skirts, by the way. I have one dress that hits above the knee–about two inches above the knee. Scandalous.