She really is the only pet not causing me trouble this year and now I've cursed myself for saying that out loud. Edsel will have surgery on Tuesday to remove his stupid mast cell tumor, and they'll send it off to pathology to see if he will be okay (very likely) or if he'll be Jenny on Love Story.
He seems clueless (surprise!) that anything is happening, and for some reason they want me to give him Benadryl till the day of surgery, and they said if he shows signs of being sedated to reduce the amount. Pfft. Like that dog is sedate anywhere but at the vet.
Anyway, I can't stay and talk long, girl, because my dogs, Cancer 1 and Cancer 2, have a playdate today with their old friend Penny and also their soon-to-be-NEW-friend Cash. Both dogs belong to women I work with at my fake work, where I continue to freelance. We are having hors d'oeuvres and drinks and general talk about our periods and whatever it is girls talk about. I have to go clean the bathroom so no one knows I live like one of those people on Hoarders in real life.
Last night I had dinner with Ned's brother and sister-in-law. I mean, Ned was there. He didn't just say, "Oh, you should meet them. Text me and tell me all about it!" Anyway we had a good time. I knew I'd like them, just from stories Ned has told me. We were sitting in the restaurant part, but could see the bar, and Ned's sister-in-law and I peered at floozies at the bar. Seriously, one woman was probably my age, and she had on a strapless leather dress and five-inch suede red heels. I've been looking for a red suede pump. That, as usual, was only funny if you've memorized When Harry Met Sally.
My point is, she was no Tina Turner. I mean, middle-aged girlfriend was not pulling off the look. Oh, and the hair! She kind of had Sammy Hagar hair. I wish there had been a way to surreptitiously take a picture so we could all be catty together.
When we got back to Ned's place, his bachelor pad, with all the black lights and lava lamps and beer mirrors, (oh, and the poster that reads "Choices" with the car, girl and drink) (if Ned had even one of these things I would not have returned for a follow-up date) (Okay, maybe I could've lived with a lava lamp, if he was being ironic), he opened up a new roll of paper towels, because Ned knows how to set a mood, and his cat immediately put her head in the empty bag.
Dude. Do you have any idea how fast this 12-year-old cat prances around once she has a beloved bag on her head? I took probably 10 photos of her and this was the best I could get. Then, once I gave up, I heard Ned in there droning about how he was going to take that bag away because it's plastic and what he doesn't know is I captured his riveting diatribe on film for all of you.
I just think every mundane thing Ned says is cute. I am at my very worst right now, smitten-wise. And you have to be along with me. Congratulations.
Anyway, I should go. Tune in tomorrow for playdate photos of Cash, Penny and the Tumor Twosome, coming to a blog near you.