Yesterday, someone brought a puppy to work. I knew it right away, because the whole office changed, and there were squeals, and I said to myself, "Please let it be a puppy and not a human baby person."
Way back, like in the '90s, this poor soul named Pheiddipides had to run from Marathon to Athens to tell everyone what was going on with the war with the Persians, and why everyone hated cats so much is beyond me. He was a courier who spreaded the news. Because there were no cell phones or internets. There was no TMZ. In one day, he ran back and forth for a total of 26.2 miles, and in the end announced, "Nike," which means "victory" and also "lesbian shoe," and then he fell over dead.
And that is how we got the marathon. Because someone fell over dead. And yes, I said "spreaded."
Anyway, victory was mine, as it was a puppy and not an infant, which, eh. Do you guys who have kids and so on really get as squishy inside as you do when you see a puppy? Am I missing a chip? I know I'm missing a chip.
The point is, I sat in the Circle of Girls that was immediately created at work, and we all petted the puppy WHO WAS SO SOFT and we loved the puppy and we exclaimed over her feets and then I said to my coworker TinaDoris, "I want a puppy so bad."
And that is how we decided to just, you know, zip over to the animal shelter yesterday after work, which by the way is what she decided we should do back when Roger died and I ended up with a Lily and an Iris.
Anyway. For one, I am delighted to announce that I don't have to drive down fucking Wendover all over yonder every night after work. The shelter is, I'd guess, five miles from work, all down this street called Wendover, and it takes approximately 47 hours to go those five miles. Jesus Christ.
But when we finally got there, oh, with the puppies. My heart was BROKEN for the older dogs, but I'm too scared to get a grownup dog. What if he eats cats? But, oh my god, so many grownup dogs killing me.
Then I saw this sweet pea and I fell over dead. LOOK AT HIM. He has a terrible name, Chadwick, and who names a puppy Chadwick? Oh, I talked to him and cooed at him and told him I loved him. I love the part in this face. His red sea. Oh my god, dead. Dead Sea.
"Okay, I have to think about it," I said to TinaDoris, in my one moment of maturity that I get per day. All the way home I thought about him and his little white streak. Oh my god, I could name him Dice.
And that's when I got home and got a bill for $1,000 from the dentist.
SON OF A BITCH.
Remember when insurance used to cover things? I had a crown and a night guard made recently, and I guess that's what it cost after insurance. Wait. "Insurance." I called the dentist's office, and their machine actually said, "This machine does not record calls." What the FUCK? What is this, 1977? So I have to call today, and obviously will have to do a payment plan, just like I did with the vet, and also too I owe money for taxes. So no puppy SON OF A BITCH.
Go back up and look at his earses. SON OF A BITCH.
Anyway, before I knew I'd have to spend $1,000 on the dentist AND IT WASN'T EVEN FUN, I spent $7.44 on a perfume sample of that Jo Malone stuff I was talking about yesterday, the Wood Sage and Sea Salt one. So that's exciting.
At least I will smell good. Or like salty woods. Mmmmm!
I leave you with this; June dancing to the Pixies. You're welcome.