I have cracked up. When Jason is away, I tend to talk absentmindedly to the cats. (Now, I don't expect them to answer mind you. That would be psych-ward cracked up.) But I say random things to them like "Who wants a treat?" or "George, would you like a belly ruuuuuuuuuub?" or "Elwin, it's bedtime! Come on up!" or maybe even "Who's mommy's little pumpkin pie? You are! You are! Yes you are!" if one is being particularly affectionate.
However, today, I reached a whole new level of cuckoo. I talked to my bag. Maybe it's because most of my bags have names (given by the designers, not by me). But as I was on my way home today, I got caught in a light shower. Shocking, I know... considering I live in London and it's November. I digress. So I walked in and immediately grabbed a dry cloth to blot my bag and let it dry out for a bit. When I walked over to check on it later, it had dried perfectly and without any spots at all. Here it comes. Wait for it. I said, "Nice recovery Edith! Well done!"
Y'all just marinate on that for a while. I'm off to make an appointment with a therapist.
"A little help here please? My handler has clearly lost it. And for Godssakes will someone tell her to not use a flash when photographing me??? It simply doesn't do a thing for my skin!"