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.
"we not sort of yellow. we GOLDEN. not to forget it, mom."
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?"
Norwegia.
Seriously.
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.
Namaste, bitches.
