April 1, 2009
DISCLAIMER: if you are eating right now--stop reading. If you have a weak stomach--stop reading. This is not going to be pretty.
You can count on your day being a rocky one when it starts like this:
You're in your bathroom doing your morning routine--brushing your teeth, putting on make up, the ushz. It's not one of those mornings you have GMA on in the background, not even your Internet radio. It's basically quite in your one bedroom apartment. Until you hear a sound out of the ordinary. You know the sound of the dog drinking, the dog eating, the cat in the litter box, the cat running around like a maniac, etc. All things that normally go down in the morning. This sound is none of the above. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you walk down the hallway, through the living room and before you make the turn into the kitchen you discover the source. The dog. The dog you kiss every morning on the mouth, eating a pile of cat poo your cat was nice enough to leave OUTSIDE of the litter box (his little announcement that the box is a wee bit too full for his liking).
Completely grossed out you yell his name, and "NO!" The dog, not used to being yelled at, startles, spitting out a piece of half eaten poo while continuing to chew and swallow what he managed to keep intact. Gag reflux commence. You reach for some paper towels and pick up the remnants, all the while gagging as the dog continues to lick his chops, snort and snarl (he's a slobbery, wrinkly shar-pei, he can't help it). For the remainder of the morning, you cannot look at him without gagging, let alone, even think of kissing him ever again. Ugh.
Ah yes, that indeed is how my glamorous day began. All I can say about the rest of the day is that it didn't get worse. Can't say it got any better though. The highlight? Chipotle for lunch. A girls' gotta do what a girls' gotta do.