First off, a throwback to yesterday. If you do the babelfish trick with “Spongebob Squarepants” you get “As for square of lowering swing of the sponge you pant.” Now, I like Spongebob a lot, but I’m not sure one could say I actually pant over him. I save panting over cartoon characters for Speed Racer -some things never change. My mom tried it and got this result: “Perhaps us never it transfers this method for the second time. The boat which crosses the night does not meet under any condition and.” You may be wondering, as did I, what in hell she typed in. The original was “We may never pass this way again. Ships that pass in the night and never meet.”
Secondly, a story many of you heard when it happened, but one I want in my blog for posterity - Shih Tzu Flambé. The background: I am the bubble bath queen; that’s how I relax, unwind, de-stress. I spend far too much money on exotic oils, bubble bath, scented candles and related accessories, but it’s still cheaper than therapy. I even have several terry-cloth bath pillows color-coordinated to match my towels. It’s not unusual for me to spend over an hour soaking in luxurious scented bubbles, sipping a glass of merlot and reading a paperback, adding more hot water whenever the bath starts to cool.
One day, I’m having a perfectly horrendous time. Nothing tragic occurred: I wasn’t in a wreck, the cat didn’t die, nothing momentous, just a supremely bad day. I was like King Midas in reverse - everything I touched turned to shit. I spilled toothpaste on my sweater, I ran my hose, traffic stank, I dropped everything I picked up, transposed numbers on every check I cut, lost things I had in my hand 2 seconds ago - and on and on. About midday I start looking forward to a nice hot bath, and after a couple more hours of the Day From Hell I start looking forward to the bath plus a glass of this really nice merlot that I’d been saving. This thought was all that could sustain me throughout the remainder of the day, including a wreck-laden evening rush hour, noticing that I had no gas and had to stop at Texaco no matter how much I wanted to be home, noticing that I had no money and had to go to the ATM and then back to Texaco...and on and on.
I got home, did the few things that absolutely had to be done and at last was able to run my bath. I opened the wine, lit the candles, put my hair up; I stretched out in the steamy, perfumed water, had a sip of wine and laid back on my bath pillow, finally feeling the horrors of the day begin to drain from my body...and noticed this utterly foul smell. I didn’t even want to open my eyes to see what was messed up, what had broken, what needed to be dealt with now - I didn’t know where I’d find the strength to deal with ONE MORE THING going wrong. But this odor was really disgusting, I had no choice, so I opened my eyes and looked over, only to see that my DOG was on FIRE! He looked like a pig at a luau, with the apple in its mouth - he had his front paws up on the edge of the tub with a big green tennis ball in his mouth...and flames leaping up from his elbow, where he’d stuck his arm into the flame of one of the candles.
Shrieking in horror, I put my hand under his hindquarters, flipped him over the edge of the tub, SPLOOSH! into the water to douse the flames. I was terrified that he was hurt (because I love my dog) but I was also thinking the whole time, “How am I going to explain this to Dr. Smith? They’re going to think I’m some weirdo who torched my dog...they’ll probably call the ASPCA! They’ll take my doggyboy away! WAAAH!”
Sprocket came up spluttering, covered with bubbles and mad as hell. I grabbed his little arm and started combing through the fur to survey the damage. Fortunately, this occurred during winter, when he grows his coat long. Only fur had burned; we still had about 1/8 of an inch to go before his skin was even touched. This was one of those good news/bad news situations: he wasn’t hurt, but on the other hand he didn’t understand why he’d been unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub. All he knew was, “Mom came home! I was happy! I wanted to play tennis ball! And the bitch tried to drown me!” He actually hid his tennis balls and, once I found them, wouldn’t play tennis ball with me for over two weeks.
A comment from one of my co-workers: "Most people's dogs know 'sit', 'stay', 'shake'. Helly's dog knows 'stop, drop and roll'."
Secondly, a story many of you heard when it happened, but one I want in my blog for posterity - Shih Tzu Flambé. The background: I am the bubble bath queen; that’s how I relax, unwind, de-stress. I spend far too much money on exotic oils, bubble bath, scented candles and related accessories, but it’s still cheaper than therapy. I even have several terry-cloth bath pillows color-coordinated to match my towels. It’s not unusual for me to spend over an hour soaking in luxurious scented bubbles, sipping a glass of merlot and reading a paperback, adding more hot water whenever the bath starts to cool.
One day, I’m having a perfectly horrendous time. Nothing tragic occurred: I wasn’t in a wreck, the cat didn’t die, nothing momentous, just a supremely bad day. I was like King Midas in reverse - everything I touched turned to shit. I spilled toothpaste on my sweater, I ran my hose, traffic stank, I dropped everything I picked up, transposed numbers on every check I cut, lost things I had in my hand 2 seconds ago - and on and on. About midday I start looking forward to a nice hot bath, and after a couple more hours of the Day From Hell I start looking forward to the bath plus a glass of this really nice merlot that I’d been saving. This thought was all that could sustain me throughout the remainder of the day, including a wreck-laden evening rush hour, noticing that I had no gas and had to stop at Texaco no matter how much I wanted to be home, noticing that I had no money and had to go to the ATM and then back to Texaco...and on and on.
I got home, did the few things that absolutely had to be done and at last was able to run my bath. I opened the wine, lit the candles, put my hair up; I stretched out in the steamy, perfumed water, had a sip of wine and laid back on my bath pillow, finally feeling the horrors of the day begin to drain from my body...and noticed this utterly foul smell. I didn’t even want to open my eyes to see what was messed up, what had broken, what needed to be dealt with now - I didn’t know where I’d find the strength to deal with ONE MORE THING going wrong. But this odor was really disgusting, I had no choice, so I opened my eyes and looked over, only to see that my DOG was on FIRE! He looked like a pig at a luau, with the apple in its mouth - he had his front paws up on the edge of the tub with a big green tennis ball in his mouth...and flames leaping up from his elbow, where he’d stuck his arm into the flame of one of the candles.
Shrieking in horror, I put my hand under his hindquarters, flipped him over the edge of the tub, SPLOOSH! into the water to douse the flames. I was terrified that he was hurt (because I love my dog) but I was also thinking the whole time, “How am I going to explain this to Dr. Smith? They’re going to think I’m some weirdo who torched my dog...they’ll probably call the ASPCA! They’ll take my doggyboy away! WAAAH!”
Sprocket came up spluttering, covered with bubbles and mad as hell. I grabbed his little arm and started combing through the fur to survey the damage. Fortunately, this occurred during winter, when he grows his coat long. Only fur had burned; we still had about 1/8 of an inch to go before his skin was even touched. This was one of those good news/bad news situations: he wasn’t hurt, but on the other hand he didn’t understand why he’d been unceremoniously dumped into the bathtub. All he knew was, “Mom came home! I was happy! I wanted to play tennis ball! And the bitch tried to drown me!” He actually hid his tennis balls and, once I found them, wouldn’t play tennis ball with me for over two weeks.
A comment from one of my co-workers: "Most people's dogs know 'sit', 'stay', 'shake'. Helly's dog knows 'stop, drop and roll'."
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