Matadorable

For my birthday I received a gift, as is custom on one's birthday, from my younger sister. It's called the "Total Bitch Control Kit". I assumed it was for handling my She Hulk. She can get out of control when she's upset. When I open the kit though, it is not what I originally expect. This isn't a kit to control the She Hulk, it's a kit to help the She Hulk gain control. Makes me wonder why my sister wants to help the She Hulk along. Not that she needs any help with her rampagingness (not a real word, do not pester dictionary.com). So very not good, the She Hulk devoured the kit...not in the sense that she ate it, don't be foolish. There's a little book included with helpful phrases that egg the She Hulk on, especially at a time when she craves salty foods. There are quotes like, "battles are won before they are fought", and, "if you can't bite don't show your teeth". The She Hulk has adopted these new mantras and bears her teeth and claws the second she breaks free to start her rampage. Poor Boyfriend doesn't stand a chance. Also, why do the drawings of this total bitch in the book look like a nineteen fifties cougar? Boys, I just left a pie cooling on the windowsill, would you care to come in and have a warm slice? That's the drawing of the cougar talking. I don't make pies. Who in the hell is she talking to? There's nobody here except me. I wasn't expecting the crazy to arrive so soon. Put the "Total Bitch Control Kit" back in its box and throw it to the other side of the apartment. Good job.

Onward. Boyfriend and I have a mutt. Nope, scratch that. The mutt and I have a Boyfriend. The mutt was here first and we collectively decided to let the Boyfriend live with us. After two years of cohabitation with Boyfriend, none of it's mine or his anymore. It's mine and ours. See, I can share...his things...his nice things. He can have his hockey stuff and the football helmet and the kitchen whatsits. I don't even know what any of those things do (including the hockey stuff and football helmet). By all rights at this juncture in our jaunty journey (who doesn't love alliteration? Go away, you're uninvited to the blog) the mutt is equal parts mine and Boyfriend's responsibility. Does anyone disagree? Well all I hear is Fat (the cat for those of you that don't care to pay attention) lapping water out of her dish and nobody saying that I'm wrong, so there you have it. Right again. Don't rush me, I'm gradually getting to the point of this post. Potentially. We'll see if any coherent sentences tap out of my fingertips and onto the screen in front of me. So far so good.

Actually, I'm sleepy. Not that there will be any way to tell in this blog post, but I am going to bed. We'll revisit this post anon. If I remember to. Well I guess if it actually gets posted and there are words after this paragraph it means that I did remember to finish the thought I had here. In which case you're welcome. If I didn't remember, it's not like you'll be able to get upset with me because these words will never make it onto your computer screen. Sometimes I'm so clever I outsmart myself. Bedtime now.

It's only a couple days later. Took me a moment to recall what I meant to share in this post, but it's official: we're on the trolley again. Recently, my Muse and I decided to be clever and avoid all those hectic Christmas shoppers. If that man that barged into me in the mall the other day is reading this, you too are uninvited to my blog. Yes you apologized, but that was only after I rudely yelled something like, whoa, whoa, whoa! to your backside. Uninvited! Muse and I picked a day we were both free, made lists, and power shopped to finish our Christmas shopping. Well, mostly. Next year, everyone is getting a bottle of booze for Christmas, even the children. It makes my life easier. I took the mutt out for a long walk before we left, and Muse whisked me away to spend much too much of my hard-earned dollars. Fast forward to a few hours later. We were waiting for the last gift of the day to be ready (a personalized something, you know how long things like this can take, especially when the person doing it is a weirdo and also a doddler who is quite possibly dyslexic). We were a little later than I expected, so I text Boyfriend to ask him if he was near the apartment so he could take the mutt out to lift a leg. It was not in his plan as he, too, had things to do. As he can't leave his little mutt buddy to cross his legs and hold it for another hour before I get home, Boyfriend went to let him out. However, as I have put him out of his way, Boyfriend texts me to say that you can't leave a dog alone for so long. The She Hulk coated me instantly and rage coursed through my veins. I never, never, ever leave the mutt alone for so long. Especially on purpose, that little mutt has a life most people would dream of. I plan my day around him because I love that little beast. On the drive home, I obsess over this, thinking how dare he say something like that? Is he inferring that I am a bad pet owner? Because I would STRONGLY disagree. I felt a little bad for Muse, who had the pleasure of a front row seat as I worked the She Hulk up and egged her on with imagined thoughts of what Boyfriend was thinking.

I got home, arms full of packages and bags, dropping them in the bedroom as I took my loaded pistols from their holsters. Then I shot him four times in the chest. Bang! That's how you do it where I come from. Okay, no. Not really. The loaded pistols are the fiery words in my chest that will shoot out as soon as he says the wrong thing. I'm just waiting for the go-ahead. For the record, the wrong thing could have been anything from, The dog peed on the carpet to I just made dinner for us. Who am I kidding? If he sneezed I would've lit the cannons. The She Hulk was angry.

Instead, he says something that I'm not bracing myself for. He looks a little upset, and tells me about part of his day. At one point during his running around, he saw a mouse caught in a mouse trap (one of the snappy ones, not the humane ones that let you free them back into the wild after you catch them), but it managed to kind of escape before the trap could kill him, but instead trapped and broke the little thing's leg. So Boyfriend, heart breaking, thought the best thing to do instead of let it slowly die while caught in the trap, would be to kill it quickly so it didn't have to suffer anymore. Sweet, yes? It just turns out that he probably didn't pick the best way to "off it" as it were. Clearly, Boyfriend lacks the cold-hearted killer instinct, and figures the nicest way to send it off is by drowning it. I'm sure you can imagine how the story ended. The mouse did not "go gently into that good night" as easily as Boyfriend thought it would. It fought and struggled for breath, ripping into Boyfriend's fragile heart as long as it continued to live. Eventually though, it succumbed to death. Boyfriend hasn't been the same since. I think he's haunted by the ghost of that little mouse.

What kind of vicious beast would the She Hulk be if she tore him apart after this? I mean, his text did encourage her, but in the end, he was just too matadorable to charge at. That's why she waited a full twenty-four hours before she threw down the gauntlet. It's the polite thing to do when one is in mourning. I've got control of the She Hulk.

Time for tea,

K