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September 13, 2007
Too Weak to Write
I've had quite the morning.
Quite.
The.
Morning.
And, since I've already gone to the trouble to write out the events for my dear Capt. Spicer, I figured - hezbollah, why not just copy and paste? You've had a brutal one, take this time to reflect, rather than craft another witty and beloved soliloquy to your September 13.
Herewith, the news:
I realize it may be hard to hear a story from a N*ely that that N*ely SWEARS is not an exaggeration but here goes: last night, Deuce busted into a bunch of chocolates Natasha had (apparently) mailed me. Bad news for dogs - chocolate is toxic. Vet said he thought she'd be all right, might have some loose stools (mmm) but that's it. So. Anys. She was all burpy and stuff last night but OK. This morning she woke me up around 6 and I went downstairs and it was as if someone had sprayed my kitchen and back door entryway with a shit/vomit gun. A shit/vomit gun set on "stun." Brown as the day is long. Brown and chunky.
I went back to bed.
Natch.
So, when I got up, I had a bowl of cereal and mustered my forces and spent the last FORTY FIVE MINUTES scrubbing like Cinderella. Oh, did I mention she also peed on my area rug? Yep. So that's outside, scrubbed and drying in the sun.
Mmmmmmm. Good morning. I think I'm going to have to go scald my hands in boiling lye for a few hours. 'scuse.
Jenny's response:
dear god.
maybe you should get her branded with that Rilo Kiley tattoo.
pets = trouble
me = nostradamus
TRUER WORDS, CAP'N, TRUER WORDS...
Posted by Bree at September 13, 2007 09:57 AM