You know those days where your house is mess but you can’t bring yourself to clean because it’s stormy outside and you want to watch The Virgin Suicides again? Today has totally been that day.
Well, it was.
When I was typing the first draft of this there was a power surge, followed by the television beeping the Emergency Broadcast noise, followed by the Emergency Broadcast dude telling me that this was NOT a test. Right as I was sitting up straight both dogs starting barking like the end of time and B busted in the door with bunch of wind and yard debris. Thoughts I was having: tornado, swine flu, somethingelsereallybad. Turns out it was a thunderstorm warning.
Really, Emergency Broadcast dude? I feel like we should save the “This is NOT a test” for the real shit, no? I mean, the rose bushes aren’t even blowing hard. Talk about the Emergency Broadcast Operator that cried wolf!
And the fun didn’t stop there!
I was settling back in, about to tell you about my Ross Gellar tanning experience, when B shouted from the back. Something about poop. And scissors.
Turns out that Gypsy (the dog) has a seven inch long piece of sock yarn* all tangled up with feces hanging out of her ass. The wind is blowing hard, the rain is coming down, and he wants me to pull “not too hard” on the shit covered string hanging out of our dogs asshole.
So gross. So, so gross. So I put a baggie over my hand and pulled, but it was totally attached to . . . something. So I just cut it off real close to the, um, asshole, and then googled what to do.
And my friends, don’t do that.
Now I have a vet appointment, a scarred psyche, and shit on my kitchen scissors.
I know you are on the edge of your seats, I will keep you posted.
*Like it wasn’t devastating enough when she chewed up the sock I had laboriously worked on. Now we have to fetch the remnants out of her asshole.