I was walking the dogs, on a new and unusual note, when this little girl came out of a house. She pointed all enthusiastically. "Mommy! GOLDEN DOGS!"
Now, there's someone who has a future in advertising.
Note the untouched piece of Harris Teeter kitten food on the floor. Oh, everyone hates me for the Harris Teeter kitten food. I keep saying, the sooner you eat it, the sooner I'll buy the real stuff again. Just suck it up, literally. Gooz.
"Gooz." Why can't I type?
And by the way, something about Tallulah's proud barrely chest kills me every time. Maybe because it's golden.
In other news, yesterday at work, I continued to earn the respect of my coworkers with my brilliance. It's hard to hide this light under a bushel.
I work with a very affable man named Jo. With no "e." Coincidentally, he is an editor, and maybe he picked a job that started with "e" so he'd have an e, you know, somewhere.
We were working on something together and when he came over to my desk, I asked, "Why is your name 'Jo' with no 'e'?"
"Well, my parents are Norwegian..." he started, and you know how I can never let anyone finish a thought.
"Oh, and they don't end your name in 'e' in Norwegia?"
What the Sam Hill is wrong with me? Norwegia. Gooz, I hate me.
I guess that's all the stupid news I have to tell you, except that my neighbor Peg and I are going to the same party Friday, and it's costumes-optional, and we are considering going as Kardashian sisters. I mean, get a black wig, stick a pillow in your butt and you're golden like my dogs.