Master and Servant

HA! Well, I don’t feel like such a dirty bird anymore. Truth is, I’ve washed my bathmats … twice? Three times? since we moved here, which was May 1. So … well, that’s less than some of you, more often than others, and honestly, I never spent much time thinking about DRIED PEE DUST, as so many of you have, and … dried pee dust? For real?

Now, I am sensitive to the pee molecule. I will never, and I mean NEVER, have a toilet seat made of anything that is not hard, non-porous, and able to be disinfected with a swipe of the product of your choice. This means nothing squashy, nothing fabric, and for the love of the baby Jesus, no FUR. Adam’s aunt has a squashy, furry toilet seat and I REFUSE to sit on it, because I AM SORRY. FUR HAS PEE. MUCH PEE. AND PROBABLY POOP TOO.

But bathmats … well, I don’t know. Mine are rubber-backed, and I just wash and dry them, which, I am told, could cause my entire house to either smell like rubber OR spontaneously combust, so if I disappear one day, it’s because I blew us all up washing out some stupid pee molecules in the damn machine. The news will simply report an explosion, but you’ll all know the real story.

ANYWAY, so yes, Sunny got her ass kicked by the neighbor’s dog on Friday night, and it was dark and stormy and we were on our FOURTH walk of the evening, because for a dog who likes to blow the contents of her but out on a semi-regular basis, sometimes she is just so goddamn PICKY about WHERE this assplosion happens, and I’m wondering how it’s possible that our floor is acceptable, but when she goes outside, it has to be in the PRECISE PIECE OF GRASS she’s been seeking for twentysomething minutes.

So there we are, trudging through a lightning storm, while I’m FREAKING OUT, because I am afraid of lightning and thunder, and I really believe that I’m going to be struck down and killed by my bra which is, for the record, the reason I no longer wear underwire, no matter HOW Braless African Villager these puppies get after nursing, and I’m sorry, where was I? OH YES — this … this THING just shot out of nowhere and ATE HER and SHOOK HER and AH! AH! AH! I was yelling AHHHHH! and then AHHHHH! and “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” and THAT was really helpful, all that yelling! Because YELLING peels a dog off of another dog! And right, of course RIGHT! I was just being punked! HA HA!

The dog’s … owner? handler? came shooting out, apologizing, claiming he got off the leash, when I’m sorry, THERE WAS NO LEASH ATTACHED and it is at this point that I do NOT need to tell you we’ve had two days of bloody diarrhea, right? RIGHT?

It turns out it was a pet sitter who let the dog escape, AND it turns out the owners are lovely people who are aware of their dog’s, uh, less than friendly feature, and I’d say all’s well that end’s well (uh, they want to be friends, it seems, and I LIKED THEM), except that I still have a dog who poops copious amounts of blood and (SORRY) mucus onto the floor, and no amount of friendly neighborhood barbecues are going to fix THAT little problem, let me tell you.

Speaking of mucus, did you know that mucous is adjectival, while mucus is a noun? This is something I, an actual no-shit professional editor, learned only recently, most likely because I can count on less than one hand the amount of documents I’ve edited that feature mucus, unless you count this here blog, which includes mucus more than anyone would like. As does my life.

Bottom line, Sunny’s on a low-dose antibiotic that supposedly heals up the freaky ulcers, and if that doesn’t work, she’s going on Prozac. Yes, Prozac. YES, MY DAMN DOG.

And with that, let’s all go to our happy places, which for me is a tiny person giving me a cheesy fake smile (SHE DOES THIS FOR THE CAMERA) while playing in her plastic pool. Wearing pajamas.

Happy Tuesday! Kate’s coming today! KATE!

*Depeche Mode

21 comments July 19th, 2010