LOUIE, LOUIE
I cannot let yet another day go by without finally finishing my story of Lou, the Alligator. As you may remember, Tiny, Gram, and GreenTuna often go to the local diner for Saturday morning breakfast. The Chief GrillDog and the Second Mate GrillDog love TinyTuna (nickname: "Pickles") and always give her lots of attention when she comes in. A couple of weeks ago, during school half-day number 956 of the current year, GramTuna and TinyTuna went there for lunch. The GrillDogs had a small rubber alligator sitting on the counter by the cash register, and they gave it to her. Evidently, said alligator's name was "Lou". They told her she could have it, as long as she took care of it and brought Lou in for visits. So now we are the custodial caretakers of small rubber reptile.

Skip to breakfast this past Saturday. TinyTuna has her purse du jour (the child never met a purse or a journal she didn't like). Lou is, of course, is along for the ride, sharing the purse with a journal and pen (required), several chapsticks (natch), a small plastic 3 inch tall ballerina Barbie looking thing (meh) and a small book (good). We walk in, and our usual table is occupied. Boo Hiss! TinyTuna goes into overdrive begging mode to sit on the stools. Usually the answer is no, because they aren't particularly comfortable to us old people, they are directly in the line of arctic blast when the door opens, and usually everybody up there is smoking, which is a deal-breaker in my book. But we were either feeling particularly weak or particularly kind (take your pick) and we said "ok" to the stools. There is now much joy in TinyTunaVille. TinyTuna loves the stools because she can watch the GrillDogs cook, and she is closer to the action. Stools are WAY cooler than chairs or booths. Ask any nine-year old.

So here we are on the stools, and the GrillDogs start giving TinyTuna the business. Keep in mind the fact that the GrillDogs only seem to have outside voices, so everything is done at "yell" level. They are excited that Pickles remembered to bring Lou. They all have to rub Lou for good luck. Now the Tunas will win the football game (so much for that theory). TinyTuna starts putting actual pickles in Lou's floppy gator gums. Oh boy, does this set off the GrillDogs something awful. "Uh Oh!" They yell. "Lou is eating pickles! Maybe Lou isn't a Lou! Maybe Lou is a Louette!" I mutter something about Lou being a spinning wheel, knowing full well that only GramTuna, and my sister might get that joke. And we don't even own sheep. Anyway. "Lou is a Louette!" Yell the GrillDogs, who then laugh loudly at themselves. This sad attempt at a joke goes right over TinyTuna's head, but that doesn't stop the GrillDogs from yelling the same joke over and over to every waitress in the joint -- one at a time. Har de Har Har Har.

As we finish breakfast, TinyTuna leans over and has a plan. She wants to leave Lou at the diner. She thinks the GrillDogs miss Lou and she wants him to live there and she will come visit. I say ok. But can we just hand him over and say, "thanks, but we'll let Lou live here?" Oh no. This is TinyTuna, remember? The changing of the Gator Guard must be a "thing." So we have to have a plan, because all "things" have plans. The plan is (please read in a whisper voice), when TinyTuna goes to pay for breakfast, we will be poised with coats on. As soon as the Chief GrillDog goes in the back, TinyTuna will stuff Lou in the big plastic tip jar (wrapped inside a dollar) and we will make a mad dash for the car before they notice.

(Cue Mission Impossible Soundtrack)
Dum. Dum. dee-dee Dum. Dum. dee-dee Dum. Dum. dee-dee Dum. Dum. dee-dee-
Bah-da-dummmmmmm. Bah-da-dummmmmmm. Bah-da-dummmmmmm.....duh dum.

TinyTuna pays. Coats are on. Waiting....waiting.....waiting.
There goes GrillDog. Quick! Quick! Stuff Lou in the bucket. Seeya Lou. (It is interesting to note that this goodbye wasn't anywhere nearly as tearful or traumatic as the stove. Or her sock. Go figure) "Run! Run!" Yells TinyTuna. "In the Car! In the Car!" Yells TinyTuna. "Go! Go!" Orders TinyTuna. And so we did. Mission accomplished. And all before 9am.

And that, my friends, is the story of Lou.
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