My leg is hurting today, and I haven't had nearly enough beer in the past month (2! That's all! Just 2!). So I'm grumpy.
It's been called to my attention that I haven't posted for a while, so I feel compelled to do so. However, since I'm angry at my leg and don't have much to talk about in the way of beer, I'll spend this post on an entirely new subject.
This post was inspired by George, who is currently cuddling with me on the couch. And who just let out a big, loud, stinky fart.
And LuLu, my chihuahua/terrier/ROUS mix, who is underneath the dining room table, shaking and nervously licking a hole in the carpet. Probably because I just had a conversation with Vick about doing our taxes... or because the Bachelor finale is on tonight.
LuLu and George are quite the pair. They are polar opposites in pretty much every imaginable way. LuLu is high-strung, while George is inevitably asleep under a pillow. George doesn't care much for running or other cardiovascular exercise, while LuLu will pull me along for a 5-mile run day after day. George has fur... just sayin'. No offense, LuLu.
One thing they agree on is the tastiness of a rancid bag of garbage. Right after we got married, we took almost all of our gift money, and headed to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to buy one of those super-expensive, reinforced, fancy kitchen trashcans. I mean, seriously, with the money we paid for it, it should be able to walk itself outside on trash pick-up days.
My parents, reasonable and dog-free people, do not have an armored trashcan. Last Saturday, when my dogs were visiting their grandparents, we forgot to move the trash to higher ground when we left the house, and their trash was obliterated. We came home to a sea of garbage stretching halfway down one hallway, across the kitchen, and all over the living room.
There were eggshells ground into the carpets. Bits of paper towels. Wrappers. Grape stems. And a mysterious white substance.
That mysterious white substance is, two days later, still all over George's face. It's like he dipped his big, dumb face and floppy ears into white paint. (Note: it may, in fact have been white paint, as my mother is currently repainting the house... but she has no recollection of throwing any paint in the trash).
LuLu, not covered in white substance, looked innocent! Except that she had rolled over on her back, tail-between legs, shaking so hard that you could almost hear the floor vibrate.
Proof of her guilt would come a day later. On our 3.5 mile run. Paper towels don't digest well. But, for about 3 miles, it was like she had a little white "I-surrender" flag following her around. G-ross.
