He was a cute dog and all, but I’ve gotta say – every encounter I have with a dog just drives home the fact that I – we, really – are absolutely not dog people in any way, shape or form (no offense, dog people – I completely understand when people say they don’t like cats. Well, no I don’t, I just pretend to). All the having to let them outside to go to the bathroom, the slobbered dog food, the walks (although the walks weren’t bad. Probably because I didn’t do any of them. HA HA!), the following me around JUDGING ME (okay, it was pretty freakin’ cute that he kept laying down beside me and sleeping, all devoted-like). I’d absolutely do the same thing again, and I fully expect to have to deal with stray dogs finding our house again (since that’s one of the downsides of living in the country, people dump their animals off and believe they’ll live full and happy lives “in the wild”, grrrr) and I will make sure they’re fed and do my best to find them homes, but I’d rather have six more cats in this house than one dog any day. Visiting dogs = okay. Permanent dogs = not gonna happen. Y’all who thought we were going to keep the dog despite my protestations, well, SOMETIMES I MEAN WHAT I SAY! So there!
And by the way, when Fred was telling the vet tech about how we’re totally cat people, he said “In fact, we have 10 cats in our house right now!” I opened my mouth to correct him, to remind him that we had 11 cats, DUH, when I remembered that we didn’t, and got all teary-eyed.
BOO!
(pic)
To me, it looks like it’s getting better (this is how it looked on Saturday), but when I ask Fred, he just shudders and says “It looks HORRIBLE.” It would be nice if it mostly went away before next Tuesday, when I have my two-year followup with my gastric bypass surgeon, so I don’t have to say “I dumped like nobody’s business, and every blood vessel in my body popped.”
Speaking of my appointment next Tuesday, I had to have blood drawn so I could have all my levels checked and the surgeon would have my results before my appointment, and so I went to a lab in Madison. They didn’t have my doctor in their system, so I had to provide his name and number and all that. When I was back in the blood-drawing room, the phlebotomist casually said “What kind of doctor is he? An eye doctor?” and I said “No, I had gastric bypass two years ago blah blah follow up appointment.” It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I realized the reason she’d assume he was an eye doctor. Duh.
I loathe going out in public with my eye all zombie-like, because I feel like people look at me and think “DAY-UM, someone got her a good one. PROBABLY HER HUSBAND, SHE’S AN ABUSED WIFE! SOMEONE CALL THE COPS LET’S SAVE THIS POOR LADY!”
And the most ridiculous thing is that I feel GUILTY when they do a double-take. Guilty. What the fuck?
“Please just ring up my groceries and stop looking at me, thx.” (flickr)
Fred says
(DISCLAIMER: JOKES ABOUT DOMESTIC ABUSE ARE NOT FUNNY AT ALL. UNLESS YOU MAKE IT ABOUT A MAN WHO CARRIES SPIDERS OUTSIDE INSTEAD OF SQUISHING THEM. THEN IT IS HILARIOUS.)
I should look at them and say “He didn’t have to tell me twice!”
(READ THE DISCLAIMER AGAIN. )
McLovin (in the front) got up on the fence because he likes to do that and crow proudly, and so Frick decided to join him. This disturbed McLovin a LOT, and finally he hopped down off the fence and chased a yellow chicken around.
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Miz Poo thinks a rooster dinner would be TASTY.
Miss Stank by the fire last weekend.
Previously 2007: How old are these guys, that you’ve got to tell them to flush the toilet, I’m wondering. 2006: Off to the hospital! 2005: No entry. 2004: Poor Bean. 2003: About the cats. 2002: When did Dick Gephardt die? 2001: The illness continues. 2000: I am officially the laziest chick in the world.]]>