I will be the first to admit I'm not good in crisis situations. I don't like nasty things. This is everything from broken bones up to and including bathing the cat and dog. If they start spazzing, I'm out of there. I do not want to be present when the wet kitty shake down occurs. If I wanted a seat in the splash zone, you'd see me at Sea World in a dolphin hat. Well, probably sans the dolphin hat, in french sans means: dolphin hat a-no-no. I have some sense. No offense intended to those who do like to sport hats with sea mammals. But please don't count on me to be there during a red alert because if I find opportunity, I'm going to run. That says a lot because I have no sense of urgency. I'm a doddler, and my heart goes steady like a metronome simply because I avoid situations that cause palpitations. I don't know CPR, I have no clue what to do in the case of an automobile accident, and if by chance...some anonymous person...accidentally drops a jar of pickles in the grocery store, I nonchalantly walk away or pretend to be offended by the mysterious felon who smashed them pickles to the ground and took off. To the child I avoided the other day with a bloody nose, I would like to say that I am sincerely sorry, but my interaction would have just made your situation worse. I hope you got that looked at. To sum up: I am not your go-to girl when bad things happen. I have three options for crisis situations that may be of interest to you. The basic package is this: something bad happens and I casually walk away as though nothing worth mentioning has occurred. The preferred solace package that I offer: A look of disgust and possible verbing (which may also be referred to as vomiting) depending on the extent of physical damage and blood loss to your person. You may also upgrade to the premium solace package: A look of uncomfortable surprise, a statement of your choice ("whoopsies", "oh dear", or "my bad"), and I will excuse myself to find somewhere to verb that isn't in your sight line or audible bubble. Please make your selection pre-crisis or you will be left with whatever improvisational reaction comes about. I've set up a Pay Pal account solely for the purpose of booking your preferred crisis reaction. You're welcome.
Boyfriend's most recent birthday leads me to think that there is somebody out there that is looking out for me. I had to work on Boyfriend's birthday and let me tell you why that's a good thing: there was a crisis of gross proportions.
It was a sweltering day in the hottest July Vancouver had ever seen. Actually, July wasn't that great, I must be thinking about late August. The point is that it wasn't raining on the annual day we celebrate Boyfriend's birth, which, I suppose one calls his birthday. Let's stick with calling it that. I was away working, probably not working hard, but I reason that I wasn't hired to do that, but rather, employed based on my offbeat charming personality. Either way, I was not present for a good portion of the day, so what I can tell you next is based off of retellings by those present and edited accounts of those tellings based off of my memory and interest in what transpired.
Three amigos planned to set sail aboard Boyfriend's friend's sailboat. It was the perfect day for it, so the boys waited for the tide to be in their favour and they ventured abroad. They watched the sun move across the sky as they spent the afternoon tacking and jibing and I assume, pretending to be pirates. The good news is they didn't come back with stolen booty, otherwise I would have killed Boyfriend. Probably not killed him, but definitely given him eyes that made him look like a panda bear. The point is, they returned to the marina intact.
What happened next was a little unclear. So, for storytelling sake, this is how it happened: They arrived back to the dock, and tied up the vessel (that's right, I kind of speak the boating language) and popped a bit of the bubbly...no wait, it was beer...to toast boyfriend for not turning forty yet. Somehow, and I'm not saying how, but it was inferred that what happened after the elbow lifts occurred because of this activity. Boyfriend didn't make it off the boat entirely safely. By that I mean he kind of fell. By kind of, I mean, Boyfriend toppled big time. The result of that falling was slicing his palm open on a nail somewhere either on the boat or dock or hanging in midair, I cannot say. It carved a new line across his hand that would make a gypsy palm-reader shudder. Boyfriend held a rouge geyser in his hand, but again based on my understanding he had another beverage before he showed his amigo how bad it was. The other amigo was gone at this point I think. Doesn't matter, this post isn't about him. It's about Boyfriend and this one boyfriend of his that helped him out in a crisis situation. This amigo, he's a smart guy, genius in fact. Almost to a freaky extent. But he's a good amigo that stood by Boyfriend in his time of need. While Boyfriend's palm-sized Old Faithful turned his hand into a miniature Yellowstone Park, he and his amigo kicked around the idea of going to the hospital. The finale to this great debate was, I'm sure, something like: I don't want to spend my birthday in the emergency room waiting to get stitched up. How about you just fix it up for me? Please note that this is not verbatim, but I'm sure a rather close guess as to how it went down. So, the two amigos stumbled to the pharmacy to buy all the gauze thingmys and medicated cream whatsits and a pile of other stuff that was ridiculous. Then they stumbled to our itsy bitsy apartment.
Exit me from work. I call Boyfriend to see if he's home, and he is, says he and his amigo are hanging out at our house. Great, I'll see you in a few minutes. As I approach the building, Boyfriend and Mutt are outside so Mutt can lift a leg. In his hand, Boyfriend clutches a baseball. Maybe he and Mutt were playing fetch or something, I don't know. When I get closer, I realize, that ain't no baseball. It's gauze piled high and mighty to keep Old Faithful from exploding again. Gross.
Boyfriend explains what happened, framing it in a way that doesn't make him sound stupid, then we get inside and the amigo explains what he saw then tells me all the medicinal jargon that he did to Boyfriend's messed-up hand. He tells me to look at it in the morning and if it looks infected, go to the hospital. Right, give me the job that will make me want to verb. Do I want Boyfriend to be an amputee? No. Guess I have to look at that nasty palm in the morning.
Mountainous ridges. Lumpy pink skin traces the outline of Boyfriend's gash. Looking closely, I see a tiny explorer dressed in dungarees propelling down the deep walls of Boyfriend's cut. I didn't even need to see the whole wound. Didn't have to. That shit is infected. Does your head hurt? Kind of. Mister amigo says that will be the hangover. Does your hand hurt? Yes. To the hospital! That's not what my amigo said it would look like if it was infected. Yes it is. We both look down and see the tiny explorer waving at us from inside the cave of dried blood. We uncomfortably wave back at him. Your amigo said if it looks like this we have to go see a doctor. Call the ambulance! Relax, I'll call him. Boyfriend chats on the phone to his amigo, at one point requesting a third opinion and holds while his amigo calls his sister who is a nurse or surgeon or dental assistant or something. Boyfriend hangs up the phone. I'm going to need a coffee before we go to the doctor. My Boyfriend ladies and gentlemen.
We go and it doesn't take too much time to get his hand looked at and re-bandaged. They said amigo did a great job with it. Seriously, the man is smart. Super smart. Super duper smart. I'm done now. Moving on. They just suggested that if something like this happens again, the best thing to do is get it stitched up right away, even though the fastener thingys that amigo put on did the job, something about the stitches were the better way to go.
In conclusion: I think amigo should live closer to us so the next time something happens we can call him and he can deal with it. It'll make me feel less guilty when I walk away.
Time for tea,
K
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
TelephOH-NO part deux
For Christmas, Boyfriend got a backwards clock from my Ma. You know, where if you're dyslexic it'll really mess with you because when it's 7:00 it looks like it's 5:00. It's interesting, but I have to say it makes me want to do two things: 1) Sing "If I could turn back time" by Cher (check that one off the ol' bucket list), and 2) Go insane Tell-Tale Heart style. When I notice it, the ticking drives me mental. If genetics don't make me go mad first, this clock will do the trick. Don't get me wrong, it's a neat clock, but it really gets me in touch with my psycho killer side...poor Boyfriend.
That being said. Welcome to TelephOH-NO part deux. We're happy to have you. Except for you with the caterpillar moustache. You're excused from the blog. Don't get upset with me lady, just go. I really need some better imaginary friends.
This story takes place many moons ago. Probably in the ballpark of...eight times thirty...two hundred and forty moons ago. Give or take. Oh please. We all know I have no concept of time or truth, it could have happened yesterday. No matter. The month the story takes place is of no consequence. It is time of day that is important for this tale. But I'll get to that.
Boyfriend and I are awesome, according to a very reputable source, me. My opinion of awesome probably isn't the best way to value our relationship...meh. Whatever. We work hard for the money (so hard for the mon-ey) and sometimes our relationship. Since I only see him conscious on average about twenty minutes a day we have to communicate via text while he and I are at work. Let me explain our average workday: He gets up early and wakes me before he leaves to A) Say that I'm beautiful...I think, the first moments after being woken up are always unclear and hazy, B) I think he asks me what I'm doing for the day, and C) We tag team to drug the dog. After this, I go back to sleep and he goes to work. When I get up a few hours later I text him to say g'mornin', and thus starts our texting. I then go about my meandering, writing, taking the Mutt out, shopping, slipping into lunacy from the constant ticking sound (If I could turn back tiiiiiime), Starbuckary (aka getting my sip on at Starbucks), and pretty much anything else I can do to shirk responsibilities at the shoebox-sized apartment. Eventually, I get ready to go to work, slap on the face and the work costume and I'm out the door. Not long after I leave for work, Boyfriend gets home and starts his meandering, something to do with one or all of these four things: NFL, NHL, writing me love letters that he's hidden somewhere because I have yet to actually receive one, and boats. Sometimes our paths cross on days he gets home early or I work later, but that seldom happens. Though, today he stopped by because he forgot something, so that was a nice extra two-minutes we got to spend together. Le crap, I forgot I was making myself a beverage. As my Granny would say, "Mind like a sieve." One moment please. Ah, that's the stuff. Now you have my full attention, we'll be lucky if it lasts for more than eighteen seconds. Yes. Okay, back on the trolley. So I go to work and sometimes I get home before Boyfriend goes to bed, but more often than not I get home and he's passed out on the couch. Which is good too, for reasons explained in my blog post about what he and I do when he's passed out on the couch (generally when he's been drugged with neo sicktron). Even as I wrote that last sentence I knew it sounded like there was a nasty implication there. Not what I meant. If this is our usual day, you can understand why we text throughout the day to keep in touch, and also why I still don't know his middle name, or birthday, or criminal history...
The point in the story where I She Hulk: As I said, this tale takes place many moons ago. I was working late, and as usual texting Boyfriend. Also, as usual, the later it got the more he stopped responding to my texts because he likely passed out from sleepiness. That's fair. I don't like to be bothered when I'm sleepy, drugging the dog aside. When I get home, I see his phone on the hall table. Boyfriend is done for the night and has managed, this time, to get himself to bed rather than sleep on the couch. I get into my late night routine, and when I'm brushing my teeth, I hear it. That little doorbell sound that his phone makes when he gets a text message. I spit in the sink and meet my own gaze. The She Hulk is awake and jumping to conclusions. Who the hell is texting Boyfriend at two in the morning? If it were an emergency, whoever it was would have called. Two am is what everyone knows as the booty call hour. That harlot! That Jezebel! Steam filters out from under my collar, but the She Hulk does have boundaries. She won't snoop in his phone, she'll just ask tomorrow, in an undercover human state, who was texting him at such an hour. And, if the She Hulk doesn't get a reasonable answer, she may then tear off his limbs and use them as firewood at a camp out. The She Hulk can be rational. Somewhat.
Morning comes and the She Hulk asks Boyfriend, Who text you at two in the morning? I heard your phone when I got home. Boyfriend checks, You did. I will rampage and kill...What? No fool, I heard the text come in. Why would I text you when I'm already home? Boyfriend turns the phone so I see the screen, See? There it is, a text that I sent him around 10:00, received at two in the morning. I HATE YOUR STUPID FLIP PHONE FROM THE STONE AGE! It makes a mockery of me, and now the She Hulk is riled up and can't justify taking out her anger on Boyfriend. She does what any rational She Hulk would: She goes to the wine rack, grabs bottle after bottle and starts breaking them on the living room furniture as though she is christening a ship. Merlot, smash. Pinot Grigio, smash. White Zinfindel, smash. She Hulk, smash. Okay, no. That part didn't happen, Boyfriend would call it alcohol abuse. Seriously though, if Boyfriend had a better phone, one that got its messages on time, this conundrum could've been avoided. Also, if the skanks of the world had a better witching hour, that would have also saved another She Hulk moment. Stupid, stupid phone.
Time for tea,
K
That being said. Welcome to TelephOH-NO part deux. We're happy to have you. Except for you with the caterpillar moustache. You're excused from the blog. Don't get upset with me lady, just go. I really need some better imaginary friends.
This story takes place many moons ago. Probably in the ballpark of...eight times thirty...two hundred and forty moons ago. Give or take. Oh please. We all know I have no concept of time or truth, it could have happened yesterday. No matter. The month the story takes place is of no consequence. It is time of day that is important for this tale. But I'll get to that.
Boyfriend and I are awesome, according to a very reputable source, me. My opinion of awesome probably isn't the best way to value our relationship...meh. Whatever. We work hard for the money (so hard for the mon-ey) and sometimes our relationship. Since I only see him conscious on average about twenty minutes a day we have to communicate via text while he and I are at work. Let me explain our average workday: He gets up early and wakes me before he leaves to A) Say that I'm beautiful...I think, the first moments after being woken up are always unclear and hazy, B) I think he asks me what I'm doing for the day, and C) We tag team to drug the dog. After this, I go back to sleep and he goes to work. When I get up a few hours later I text him to say g'mornin', and thus starts our texting. I then go about my meandering, writing, taking the Mutt out, shopping, slipping into lunacy from the constant ticking sound (If I could turn back tiiiiiime), Starbuckary (aka getting my sip on at Starbucks), and pretty much anything else I can do to shirk responsibilities at the shoebox-sized apartment. Eventually, I get ready to go to work, slap on the face and the work costume and I'm out the door. Not long after I leave for work, Boyfriend gets home and starts his meandering, something to do with one or all of these four things: NFL, NHL, writing me love letters that he's hidden somewhere because I have yet to actually receive one, and boats. Sometimes our paths cross on days he gets home early or I work later, but that seldom happens. Though, today he stopped by because he forgot something, so that was a nice extra two-minutes we got to spend together. Le crap, I forgot I was making myself a beverage. As my Granny would say, "Mind like a sieve." One moment please. Ah, that's the stuff. Now you have my full attention, we'll be lucky if it lasts for more than eighteen seconds. Yes. Okay, back on the trolley. So I go to work and sometimes I get home before Boyfriend goes to bed, but more often than not I get home and he's passed out on the couch. Which is good too, for reasons explained in my blog post about what he and I do when he's passed out on the couch (generally when he's been drugged with neo sicktron). Even as I wrote that last sentence I knew it sounded like there was a nasty implication there. Not what I meant. If this is our usual day, you can understand why we text throughout the day to keep in touch, and also why I still don't know his middle name, or birthday, or criminal history...
The point in the story where I She Hulk: As I said, this tale takes place many moons ago. I was working late, and as usual texting Boyfriend. Also, as usual, the later it got the more he stopped responding to my texts because he likely passed out from sleepiness. That's fair. I don't like to be bothered when I'm sleepy, drugging the dog aside. When I get home, I see his phone on the hall table. Boyfriend is done for the night and has managed, this time, to get himself to bed rather than sleep on the couch. I get into my late night routine, and when I'm brushing my teeth, I hear it. That little doorbell sound that his phone makes when he gets a text message. I spit in the sink and meet my own gaze. The She Hulk is awake and jumping to conclusions. Who the hell is texting Boyfriend at two in the morning? If it were an emergency, whoever it was would have called. Two am is what everyone knows as the booty call hour. That harlot! That Jezebel! Steam filters out from under my collar, but the She Hulk does have boundaries. She won't snoop in his phone, she'll just ask tomorrow, in an undercover human state, who was texting him at such an hour. And, if the She Hulk doesn't get a reasonable answer, she may then tear off his limbs and use them as firewood at a camp out. The She Hulk can be rational. Somewhat.
Morning comes and the She Hulk asks Boyfriend, Who text you at two in the morning? I heard your phone when I got home. Boyfriend checks, You did. I will rampage and kill...What? No fool, I heard the text come in. Why would I text you when I'm already home? Boyfriend turns the phone so I see the screen, See? There it is, a text that I sent him around 10:00, received at two in the morning. I HATE YOUR STUPID FLIP PHONE FROM THE STONE AGE! It makes a mockery of me, and now the She Hulk is riled up and can't justify taking out her anger on Boyfriend. She does what any rational She Hulk would: She goes to the wine rack, grabs bottle after bottle and starts breaking them on the living room furniture as though she is christening a ship. Merlot, smash. Pinot Grigio, smash. White Zinfindel, smash. She Hulk, smash. Okay, no. That part didn't happen, Boyfriend would call it alcohol abuse. Seriously though, if Boyfriend had a better phone, one that got its messages on time, this conundrum could've been avoided. Also, if the skanks of the world had a better witching hour, that would have also saved another She Hulk moment. Stupid, stupid phone.
Time for tea,
K
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
TelephOH-NO part un
It's been a good day. That is all.
Okay. I joke. Not about it being a good day, that is definitely for true. For some reason I can't just leave a mere sentence for you to read. I'm told that is uncool behaviour. And kind of sad. But yes, good day. Slept late. Walked Mutt backward up the street to return a library book. Sometimes it's nice to get a different perspective. Done did some writin' for my book. Got some errands done. Had tea with the Royal Jester. Delicious dinner with Boyfriend...What do you mean who is the Royal Jester? He's my imaginary friend, mind your business. What else happened? I did some readin'. Wrote a letter to my Granny caveman-style, taking a chisel to a flat rock. That took forever. Not sure how the postman will manage with the delivery, but that's not my problem. Had the all-mighty girls' pow-wow with Muse. Aside here: Congratulations to Muse's Hubby for knockin' her up... And to Muse for being brave enough to bear his child. It's always good to catch up with girlfriends. They remind you of things that you've pushed from your thoughts. Plus, I have so many thoughts, sometimes it's hard to keep track. I like to let them roam free, which explains why so many thoughts end up missing. I'll find them eventually. You know how I suffer from misplacement. Now where was I going?
Yes. Things I was reminded of with Muse. We like to travel down memory lane sometimes, and other times we wander up future trail. Today we did both, but screw the future, we spent more time visiting the past. She reminded me of our time together in school, how we were such bad students but managed to get pretty decent grades. Which led me to remember our accounting final when I had to pee really bad, but we weren't allowed to leave the classroom even for that. I wrote that final like I already knew the answers leaving Muse by herself in the classroom to wonder if I was a genius or she was the opposite. The reality is just my tiny bladder. I thought I had an overactive bladder once and went to the doctor to find out and he looked at me funny and said, "Did you listen to your answer when I asked you how much water you drink a day? What goes in must come out." Thanks Doc. Then Muse and I talked about the future (I mean, she is full of fetus, you can't not talk about it) and how things are hopefully going to turn out. Oh please. When does planning ever come true?
The final thing she mentioned that struck me with a memory was a conversation about her phone acting up. Her phone, much like mine, is definitely showing its age. Muse mentioned that it's been kind of an asshole to her by typing extra letters in her texts. There go any grounds I have for ha-ha-ing at any spelling mistakes she sends my way. Her phone crisis, nay, irritation, led me to think of two tidbits about Boyfriend and his phone:
TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un (That's Frenish. A language so romantic even Parisites are envious. That's what people from Paris are called, right?) Hold up. Is that why at Tim Horton's the itty bitty doughnut knobs are called timbits? Because it sounds similar to tidbit? Maybe tomorrow I shall go ask them. Not that the people behind the counter will know, they barely look me in the eye. Still. I need answers.
Where am I now?... TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un!
I may have said in past posts how Boyfriend is particular. No? Yes? Either way. I know with great certainty that he likes simple things (You, with the question marks all over your face: Read my last post, I'm not here to spoon-feed you details of past postings). Simple things like (you know what, forget reading my last post. Get out. Security will rough you up a little while they escort you to the figurative door) a hot summer day, eating the last of my chocolates when the She Hulk is at full capacity, a cell phone manufactured before the year 2000. The last one drives me clinically insane. Literally. Okay, no. Not LITERALLY. Not yet anyways. Almost. One day soon. Boyfriend's cell phone is the oldest, most outdated, nearly useless piece of technology in existance. Honestly, if I gave him supplies to send smoke signals to people he would be much better off. You know the big ol' two hander cell phones from way back when? Boyfriend has one marginally better. Marginally. As Boyfriend does, he likes it (Say Whaaaat?) because it makes no sense to the rest of the human race. About a year ago, his quality communication device bit the dust...this is where you gasp and scream out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"...go on. Do it. For those that followed my instructions, I'm proud of you. For those that just proceeded to read without engaging in audience participation, you are all asses. And for those of you that were in the latter group, but feel no remorse for ignoring my request and being called out on it: go away, you're no fun and I want you out. Let's get back on track. What was Boyfriend to do with a broken phone? A phone he bonded with, spent a tiring two minutes figuring out how to operate. That's time he won't get back. Boyfriend did what every man would do in the same situation: he went hunting. Vegetarians, relax. He went hunting around town for a replica of his formidable, top-of-the-line communication device. Store after store he searched, bombarded by salesmen that tried to get him to upgrade to a touchscreen, something that would go online, something with apps, an actual keyboard, anything. A-no. That was not what Boyfriend was looking for. And then, a beckoning from a Rogers store: they had one! The last one ever made that was on death row, waiting to be sent toward oblivion in an incinerator. Boyfriend ran like never before. This is where the triumphant music gets louder and Boyfriend sprints in slow motion, pushing ol' ladies waddling on the sidewalk into traffic so he, Boyfriend, can make it to Rogers on time to save that last phone from a hideous fate. We get a glimpse of the store clerk holding the outdated phone in his hands while he shakes his head, thinking, "what a piece of crap." The music gets more dramatic, and it seems as though Boyfriend won't make it before the phone gets destroyed. We go to a close-up of Boyfriend's face, he grits his teeth in determination, beads of sweat form across his brow, and his eyes are locked with the camera. And we, the audience, we know he's going to make it. We cheer him on...do it, cheer him on...The very last shot is Boyfriend grabbing that old piece of junk from the salesman's hands and throwing a handful of bills on the counter to pay for it. As he walks out, he says something cheesy, as one does at the end of such a dramatic scene, I'm going to call my girlfriend and tell her the good news. And then as he goes to press the buttons, Boyfriend realizes that he hasn't actually activated the phone, so it does nothing. The final scene is of Boyfriend laughing with joy because he's so happy to have another crappy phone to fulfil the legacy of its twin. Well, maybe it wasn't as dramatic as that, but how do you make a story about Boyfriend replacing a super old phone with the exact same one more interesting? You should've taken it as a hint when you couldn't find a replica at the first few phone stores Boyfriend. You have to upgrade sometime.
You will have to wait for TelephOH-NO part deux. I grow weary (In my twenties and I'm old, how does this happen?). One tidbit is enough for today. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
Okay. I joke. Not about it being a good day, that is definitely for true. For some reason I can't just leave a mere sentence for you to read. I'm told that is uncool behaviour. And kind of sad. But yes, good day. Slept late. Walked Mutt backward up the street to return a library book. Sometimes it's nice to get a different perspective. Done did some writin' for my book. Got some errands done. Had tea with the Royal Jester. Delicious dinner with Boyfriend...What do you mean who is the Royal Jester? He's my imaginary friend, mind your business. What else happened? I did some readin'. Wrote a letter to my Granny caveman-style, taking a chisel to a flat rock. That took forever. Not sure how the postman will manage with the delivery, but that's not my problem. Had the all-mighty girls' pow-wow with Muse. Aside here: Congratulations to Muse's Hubby for knockin' her up... And to Muse for being brave enough to bear his child. It's always good to catch up with girlfriends. They remind you of things that you've pushed from your thoughts. Plus, I have so many thoughts, sometimes it's hard to keep track. I like to let them roam free, which explains why so many thoughts end up missing. I'll find them eventually. You know how I suffer from misplacement. Now where was I going?
Yes. Things I was reminded of with Muse. We like to travel down memory lane sometimes, and other times we wander up future trail. Today we did both, but screw the future, we spent more time visiting the past. She reminded me of our time together in school, how we were such bad students but managed to get pretty decent grades. Which led me to remember our accounting final when I had to pee really bad, but we weren't allowed to leave the classroom even for that. I wrote that final like I already knew the answers leaving Muse by herself in the classroom to wonder if I was a genius or she was the opposite. The reality is just my tiny bladder. I thought I had an overactive bladder once and went to the doctor to find out and he looked at me funny and said, "Did you listen to your answer when I asked you how much water you drink a day? What goes in must come out." Thanks Doc. Then Muse and I talked about the future (I mean, she is full of fetus, you can't not talk about it) and how things are hopefully going to turn out. Oh please. When does planning ever come true?
The final thing she mentioned that struck me with a memory was a conversation about her phone acting up. Her phone, much like mine, is definitely showing its age. Muse mentioned that it's been kind of an asshole to her by typing extra letters in her texts. There go any grounds I have for ha-ha-ing at any spelling mistakes she sends my way. Her phone crisis, nay, irritation, led me to think of two tidbits about Boyfriend and his phone:
TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un (That's Frenish. A language so romantic even Parisites are envious. That's what people from Paris are called, right?) Hold up. Is that why at Tim Horton's the itty bitty doughnut knobs are called timbits? Because it sounds similar to tidbit? Maybe tomorrow I shall go ask them. Not that the people behind the counter will know, they barely look me in the eye. Still. I need answers.
Where am I now?... TelephOH-NO Tidbit Numero Un!
I may have said in past posts how Boyfriend is particular. No? Yes? Either way. I know with great certainty that he likes simple things (You, with the question marks all over your face: Read my last post, I'm not here to spoon-feed you details of past postings). Simple things like (you know what, forget reading my last post. Get out. Security will rough you up a little while they escort you to the figurative door) a hot summer day, eating the last of my chocolates when the She Hulk is at full capacity, a cell phone manufactured before the year 2000. The last one drives me clinically insane. Literally. Okay, no. Not LITERALLY. Not yet anyways. Almost. One day soon. Boyfriend's cell phone is the oldest, most outdated, nearly useless piece of technology in existance. Honestly, if I gave him supplies to send smoke signals to people he would be much better off. You know the big ol' two hander cell phones from way back when? Boyfriend has one marginally better. Marginally. As Boyfriend does, he likes it (Say Whaaaat?) because it makes no sense to the rest of the human race. About a year ago, his quality communication device bit the dust...this is where you gasp and scream out, "NOOOOOOOOO!"...go on. Do it. For those that followed my instructions, I'm proud of you. For those that just proceeded to read without engaging in audience participation, you are all asses. And for those of you that were in the latter group, but feel no remorse for ignoring my request and being called out on it: go away, you're no fun and I want you out. Let's get back on track. What was Boyfriend to do with a broken phone? A phone he bonded with, spent a tiring two minutes figuring out how to operate. That's time he won't get back. Boyfriend did what every man would do in the same situation: he went hunting. Vegetarians, relax. He went hunting around town for a replica of his formidable, top-of-the-line communication device. Store after store he searched, bombarded by salesmen that tried to get him to upgrade to a touchscreen, something that would go online, something with apps, an actual keyboard, anything. A-no. That was not what Boyfriend was looking for. And then, a beckoning from a Rogers store: they had one! The last one ever made that was on death row, waiting to be sent toward oblivion in an incinerator. Boyfriend ran like never before. This is where the triumphant music gets louder and Boyfriend sprints in slow motion, pushing ol' ladies waddling on the sidewalk into traffic so he, Boyfriend, can make it to Rogers on time to save that last phone from a hideous fate. We get a glimpse of the store clerk holding the outdated phone in his hands while he shakes his head, thinking, "what a piece of crap." The music gets more dramatic, and it seems as though Boyfriend won't make it before the phone gets destroyed. We go to a close-up of Boyfriend's face, he grits his teeth in determination, beads of sweat form across his brow, and his eyes are locked with the camera. And we, the audience, we know he's going to make it. We cheer him on...do it, cheer him on...The very last shot is Boyfriend grabbing that old piece of junk from the salesman's hands and throwing a handful of bills on the counter to pay for it. As he walks out, he says something cheesy, as one does at the end of such a dramatic scene, I'm going to call my girlfriend and tell her the good news. And then as he goes to press the buttons, Boyfriend realizes that he hasn't actually activated the phone, so it does nothing. The final scene is of Boyfriend laughing with joy because he's so happy to have another crappy phone to fulfil the legacy of its twin. Well, maybe it wasn't as dramatic as that, but how do you make a story about Boyfriend replacing a super old phone with the exact same one more interesting? You should've taken it as a hint when you couldn't find a replica at the first few phone stores Boyfriend. You have to upgrade sometime.
You will have to wait for TelephOH-NO part deux. I grow weary (In my twenties and I'm old, how does this happen?). One tidbit is enough for today. Stay tuned.
Time for tea,
K
Saturday, January 7, 2012
The simple things in life
I've never wanted a relationship that was easy. Why? Two reasons: 1)Easy is boring, and 2)Easy is boring. As I was writing I forgot what my second reason was, so I figured reason number one was important enough to list twice. I don't like boring. Boring is boring and fun is fun, even the words emulate what they are. You know fun is good because it has one syllable. One syllable = good, and moreover, One syllable = simple. Therefore, we can infer that: good = simple, yes? (For those of you that don't follow, the answer is yes, just nod your head and pretend you understand). The more important thing to note is simple ≠ boring, mmmkay? The math checks out. Which leads me into the reason for this post: cherishing the simple things in life.
One of the many reasons I love Boyfriend is his love of simple things. It doesn't take a lot to make the man happy, which makes me happy. Let's face it, it's all about my happiness anyways. However, his love of simple things has an element of Huh? (Or, Say Whaaaat? if you prefer). The things that make him happy are things that I wouldn't expect. The man watches a lot of sports, that's one of the boring simple things in his life. But that's not what we're talking about. This post is dedicated to the weird simple things. Allow me to provide three examples of Boyfriend's simple things in life with the Huh? element (Say Whaaaat?):
1) He loves Mutt
Mutt is simple. Ordinarily I would make a comparison to Boyfriend here, but that's hitting below the belt, and let's face it, it's a new year I could try to start it off on a nicer note. Boyfriend and Mutt are, as the kids say, bromantic. It helps that Mutt is his Football Sunday buddy. As I mentioned before, Mutt is ugly as they come, and Boyfriend and him didn't exactly hit it off. Boyfriend almost lost his face to the little beasty. To their inglorious friendship, I say, Huh? (Say Whaaaat?).
2) His favourite food
Boyfriend is a red seal chef. Eat your heart out ladies. He's good at what he does. For dinner he has made us grand meals including seafood-stuffed chicken with lobster bisque as the sauce over top. Please don't hate me for saying that, jealousy is unbecoming. Seriously ladies, jackpot. He cooks food that I can't even pronounce or remember the name of. Delicious delicacies I have never heard of before in my life. And Boyfriend's favourite food of all time: franks and beans. To this, I say, Huh?? (Say Whaaaat?).
3) His coffee lids
It is no secret that my man likes his Tim Horton's coffee. Every day (literally) he will have himself at least one extra large coffee with one cream and two sugar. See Boyfriend, I have the capacity to remember. That'll be egg all over my face if it's wrong and I post it in the blog here. I believe that would definitely make me the Matadork in this situation. I don't know how many times I've gotten that coffee order wrong. It's cute when he adds more milk or sugar when we get home without saying anything to my face about how I screwed up again. He knows I try, but remembering isn't my strong suit. Seriously, check my DNA, we love puns and we don't remember stuff. That chicken is foul. It's funnier saying it out loud because it's fowl... Never mind, back to the coffee situation. Way, way back when Boyfriend and I were doing the long distance thing, Tim Horton's was changing things up. Their lids that had always been those pull-back tabs were gradually switching over to latte-style lids, with the small hole to sip through. Boyfriend and I spent many tireless hours on the phone with each other trying to solve the nation-wide problem that was sweeping the pull-back lids into extinction. I will not stand for it. It's an abomination. I need a lid that I can have a drink from my coffee, not a lid that's like an adult sippy cup. More or less, this is what Boyfriend said. I'm not a good rememberer. Rememberer isn't a word. When I came to visit him, we found out the coffee shop's (or doughnut shop for those of us that have our priorities straight) plan was to phase out the old lids, and transition to these new lids. Boyfriend always made it a point to...politely demand an older lid. Times were hard, lids were changing, it was a tough era to be Boyfriend. What I like about Boyfriend, is that he's a do-er. He does not go down without aggressively fighting for his cause. He did what anyone in his right mind would have done, he started hoarding Tim's lids. When he'd go to the gas stations that sold Tim's coffee, he'd grab a few extra old-style lids and stash them away. As I mentioned, he gets a Tim's coffee every day. A few grabbed lids here and there really add up. On another visit, we went to the Tim's drive thru where they were entirely switched over to the new lids, and he asked for no lid on his coffee. Instead when we pulled up to the window, he passed over one of his lids and ask them to secure it to his cup. He perplexed many a Tim Horton's worker during that time. The man likes his lids. He had a stash in his car, at home, at work, little piles everywhere. He learned young not to keep all his eggs in one basket (pardon the cliche). And now, when one goes to Tim Horton's and orders a regular coffee, the old lids are back, they save the new lids for their lattes and stuff. Boyfriend thinks this is due to his efforts to revive the old-style lid. Frankly, I think he might be right. The lid is a very important feature to Boyfriend's daily coffee. To this, I say, that's proposterous...I mean, Huh??? (Or, Boyfriend, you crazy).
To sum up: I love my weirdo Boyfriend. His love of the simple things makes me appreciate him that much more.
Time for tea,
K
One of the many reasons I love Boyfriend is his love of simple things. It doesn't take a lot to make the man happy, which makes me happy. Let's face it, it's all about my happiness anyways. However, his love of simple things has an element of Huh? (Or, Say Whaaaat? if you prefer). The things that make him happy are things that I wouldn't expect. The man watches a lot of sports, that's one of the boring simple things in his life. But that's not what we're talking about. This post is dedicated to the weird simple things. Allow me to provide three examples of Boyfriend's simple things in life with the Huh? element (Say Whaaaat?):
1) He loves Mutt
Mutt is simple. Ordinarily I would make a comparison to Boyfriend here, but that's hitting below the belt, and let's face it, it's a new year I could try to start it off on a nicer note. Boyfriend and Mutt are, as the kids say, bromantic. It helps that Mutt is his Football Sunday buddy. As I mentioned before, Mutt is ugly as they come, and Boyfriend and him didn't exactly hit it off. Boyfriend almost lost his face to the little beasty. To their inglorious friendship, I say, Huh? (Say Whaaaat?).
2) His favourite food
Boyfriend is a red seal chef. Eat your heart out ladies. He's good at what he does. For dinner he has made us grand meals including seafood-stuffed chicken with lobster bisque as the sauce over top. Please don't hate me for saying that, jealousy is unbecoming. Seriously ladies, jackpot. He cooks food that I can't even pronounce or remember the name of. Delicious delicacies I have never heard of before in my life. And Boyfriend's favourite food of all time: franks and beans. To this, I say, Huh?? (Say Whaaaat?).
3) His coffee lids
It is no secret that my man likes his Tim Horton's coffee. Every day (literally) he will have himself at least one extra large coffee with one cream and two sugar. See Boyfriend, I have the capacity to remember. That'll be egg all over my face if it's wrong and I post it in the blog here. I believe that would definitely make me the Matadork in this situation. I don't know how many times I've gotten that coffee order wrong. It's cute when he adds more milk or sugar when we get home without saying anything to my face about how I screwed up again. He knows I try, but remembering isn't my strong suit. Seriously, check my DNA, we love puns and we don't remember stuff. That chicken is foul. It's funnier saying it out loud because it's fowl... Never mind, back to the coffee situation. Way, way back when Boyfriend and I were doing the long distance thing, Tim Horton's was changing things up. Their lids that had always been those pull-back tabs were gradually switching over to latte-style lids, with the small hole to sip through. Boyfriend and I spent many tireless hours on the phone with each other trying to solve the nation-wide problem that was sweeping the pull-back lids into extinction. I will not stand for it. It's an abomination. I need a lid that I can have a drink from my coffee, not a lid that's like an adult sippy cup. More or less, this is what Boyfriend said. I'm not a good rememberer. Rememberer isn't a word. When I came to visit him, we found out the coffee shop's (or doughnut shop for those of us that have our priorities straight) plan was to phase out the old lids, and transition to these new lids. Boyfriend always made it a point to...politely demand an older lid. Times were hard, lids were changing, it was a tough era to be Boyfriend. What I like about Boyfriend, is that he's a do-er. He does not go down without aggressively fighting for his cause. He did what anyone in his right mind would have done, he started hoarding Tim's lids. When he'd go to the gas stations that sold Tim's coffee, he'd grab a few extra old-style lids and stash them away. As I mentioned, he gets a Tim's coffee every day. A few grabbed lids here and there really add up. On another visit, we went to the Tim's drive thru where they were entirely switched over to the new lids, and he asked for no lid on his coffee. Instead when we pulled up to the window, he passed over one of his lids and ask them to secure it to his cup. He perplexed many a Tim Horton's worker during that time. The man likes his lids. He had a stash in his car, at home, at work, little piles everywhere. He learned young not to keep all his eggs in one basket (pardon the cliche). And now, when one goes to Tim Horton's and orders a regular coffee, the old lids are back, they save the new lids for their lattes and stuff. Boyfriend thinks this is due to his efforts to revive the old-style lid. Frankly, I think he might be right. The lid is a very important feature to Boyfriend's daily coffee. To this, I say, that's proposterous...I mean, Huh??? (Or, Boyfriend, you crazy).
To sum up: I love my weirdo Boyfriend. His love of the simple things makes me appreciate him that much more.
Time for tea,
K
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Boyfriends: a love story
Hello strangers. My attempts to get away from you have failed miserably, but we all have to agree I had a pretty good run at neglecting to blog. The holidays, they have a tendency to getcha, don't they? Good for nothing time-suckers...I love Christmas. That's not sarcasm, I'm a Christmas nerd. For those of you that contributed to my bounty of tea, tea pots, and tea cups, I thank you. You done good. Some people have creative juices, but my inspirational beverage must be hot and botanical. Heat this up! I'm going to skip over a majority of the Christmas crap that happened around here, you didn't miss much. Important bit of info: Santa brought Boyfriend and I an epileptic for Christmas, so that's awesome. We'll get to that though. Gotta lay the groundwork for this love story, Cinderella didn't begin with the loss of her glass slipper. Slippers, good idea, please hold for one moment. My foot digits seek warmth and comfort.
Let's see...once upon a time in a land of semi-desert, Boyfriend came to see his fair lady, a princess so fair and breathtaking you would hardly believe it. This visit was years ago, in the infancy of their romance, when she and he lived in separate Kingdoms. Boyfriend rode in his chariot for hours holding out in great hope for even a second of the strikingly gorgeous maiden's time. Except that she was expecting him, so really he was scheduled in for a few days of her time and didn't need to hope for it. But times change, and now he finds difficulty leaving the television when the hockey game is on to travel the distance outside to help the princess unload groceries from the car. I know Boyfriend, I was aware of what I was getting into. And I still love you for it...did anybody slip the princess some kind of potion? Yes? Because she be talking crazy. Ew, Mutt, you got your hair into my tea. Mutt, exactly. That's where I was going with this. It isn't a love story about Boyfriend and his poetically beautiful princess, but a love story of him and Mutt. Alrighty. Boyfriend travels the hundreds of kilometres to seek the love of his future princess, knowing that while her love overflows like her champagne glass on New Years, it is the approval of the miser that lives in the castle that he needs to obtain.
Uh, have I talked much about Mutt? Cliff notes if I have neglected to mention him, or a little aside for those of you that don't care to pay attention (by the by, I don't care for those of you that lack interest, go away): Mutt is so ugly he's cute. He's a mix, half chihuahua/half ugly hybrid. And he's a big bastard for a little guy. Don't get into his bubble unless you want your face ripped off. That's pretty much it. I love my grumpy Mutt.
Boyfriend at this point has heard rumour of the miser that lives in the castle, but their meeting had yet to occur. Until this day. Whatever day that was, I didn't mark it on a calendar. It was summer, three years ago...maybe August? July? Really, who cares? Those of you who care, please stop reading the blog and focus on getting a life. For reals. Please strike for reals from the record. Boyfriend crossed the moat and entered the castle where the stunning and vivacious princess greeted him. Wait. This was the first time Boyfriend came over ever. Did he get lost? No...his directions are only bad if I'm the source of them. Oh yeah, in that case, he would have gotten lost. When expected to show up at 7:00 pm, the valiant prince crossed the castle threshold at 2:54 pm the next afternoon. Which is why the flawless maiden greeted him so keenly. She had spent tireless hours wondering if his delayed arrival was due to a run-in with a dragon...that's a kind of gang, right? Oh please. We all know that I'm lying to you.
Prince Boyfriend and the fabulous princess embraced. I wrote you every day. As I you, Prince Boyfriend. Did you get my texts? I know sometimes through the mountains you lose cell service. You didn't get my replies to yon text messages? I texted you back twice. This is a conversation we still have at least once a week. Get a new phone Boyfriend! At this point his ears perk up when he hears commotion from the miser, and Prince Boyfriend looks alarmed. His hand goes to his hip where he keeps his chef knife/sword. Do you hear that? In the distance. Is there a threat to the Kingdom? Dear princess, you are too lovely to chance an encounter with a beast that creates such dreadful noise. It sounds much like the howls and echos that haunt the underbelly of hell. To my noble steed! The mazda I hath borrowed from a friend. Go devastating beauty, I will slay this wretched beast. Dude, that's my dog. C'mon I think he burrowed under the bed. Boyfriend and I go into my bedroom, kneel next to each other on the floor, and lift the blankets to gaze at the miser hiding in the shadows. That's mutt. Boyfriend's eyes dart back to the door, wondering if it's too late to make a run for that mazda. He's harmless, one second, I'll get him. I wiggle closer to him, eventually grabbing Mutt's collar with my fingers and I pry him unwillingly from under the bed and into the daylight that fills the room. I swear, the surprise on Boyfriend's face when he saw the size of my little rat dog was more hilarious than I could describe in words. Mutt at this time is barking and growling and bearing his teeth, that's my little angel for you. You have to earn his love. Boyfriend lifts his hand, thinks about giving him a pat, then thinks better of it immediately. Calm down. He won't want to attack you if you hold him. Though these words come out of my mouth as I essentially throw Mutt into Boyfriend's arms, I'm not sure if they're true. The good news is: Mutt was too surprised to do anything, so instead became frozen in Boyfriends arms with a look at me that said, "Woman, you have gone too far." They parted on mediocre terms after visit number one.
Visit number two with Mutt: Boyfriend swung by my work to grab my house keys. When I was walking home I saw in the distance somebody walking a rather poorly controlled white dog. It was Mutt and Boyfriend, with Mutt either leading the way or trying to outrun Boyfriend. It was too hard to tell.
Between visit number three and moving to the city near Boyfriend they fell in love. It happened so naturally I can't even claim to have witnessed the evolution. I should have kept a scrapbook. Now that Mutt and I have let Boyfriend move in, they've got their own thing going on. It's a dude love fest and I'm the third wheel. I think they prefer when I'm not around. I think Mutt loves him more than me...but I guess Boyfriend is the literal gravy train for that rat dog. Mutt eats better than most people because of Boyfriend. His love language is feeding you right. It must be, because he feeds me pretty good too.
The moment I knew it was true love between Prince Boyfriend and the miser was just a couple weeks ago, right before Christmas. Mutt's been having seizures, he did great shaking the martinis at our Christmas party. Just kidding, we didn't have a Christmas party. Mutt is kind of an alcoholic, but we don't judge each other in our house for our hobbies. Anyway, Mutt's seizures made us schedule a vet appointment with a new pet doc. I had to work, so Boyfriend brought mutt over town in his big redneck truck to go see what was up. They did blood work, updated shots, full physical, and then they asked Boyfriend to collect a urine sample. Poor, poor, Boyfriend. Mutt didn't have to go. Boyfriend called me after the appointment to say what happened, and that he just needed the little miser to lift a leg so he could collect the sample and then the boys could head on home. Mutt peed while Boyfriend and I were on the phone, so he missed catching it in his little container. As the story goes, a couple hours later, Mutt finally did it again and Boyfriend was overzealous and in his great effort to catch the stream, he took a little bit of the golden water to the back of his hand. I'm sorry, but you only do that for people you love. I told you, it's a love story.
Time for tea,
K
Post Script: For those of you that are interested, Mutt is in perfectly good health in spite of being epileptic. Boyfriend and I have to give him medicine every morning, and with our best efforts we've been getting Mutt to choke down his syringe of pink goodness. Yes, two on one isn't fair, but misers are difficult beings to deal with. And the prince, princess and miser lived happily ever after. Until the princess She Hulked and the prince moved to another continent.
Let's see...once upon a time in a land of semi-desert, Boyfriend came to see his fair lady, a princess so fair and breathtaking you would hardly believe it. This visit was years ago, in the infancy of their romance, when she and he lived in separate Kingdoms. Boyfriend rode in his chariot for hours holding out in great hope for even a second of the strikingly gorgeous maiden's time. Except that she was expecting him, so really he was scheduled in for a few days of her time and didn't need to hope for it. But times change, and now he finds difficulty leaving the television when the hockey game is on to travel the distance outside to help the princess unload groceries from the car. I know Boyfriend, I was aware of what I was getting into. And I still love you for it...did anybody slip the princess some kind of potion? Yes? Because she be talking crazy. Ew, Mutt, you got your hair into my tea. Mutt, exactly. That's where I was going with this. It isn't a love story about Boyfriend and his poetically beautiful princess, but a love story of him and Mutt. Alrighty. Boyfriend travels the hundreds of kilometres to seek the love of his future princess, knowing that while her love overflows like her champagne glass on New Years, it is the approval of the miser that lives in the castle that he needs to obtain.
Uh, have I talked much about Mutt? Cliff notes if I have neglected to mention him, or a little aside for those of you that don't care to pay attention (by the by, I don't care for those of you that lack interest, go away): Mutt is so ugly he's cute. He's a mix, half chihuahua/half ugly hybrid. And he's a big bastard for a little guy. Don't get into his bubble unless you want your face ripped off. That's pretty much it. I love my grumpy Mutt.
Boyfriend at this point has heard rumour of the miser that lives in the castle, but their meeting had yet to occur. Until this day. Whatever day that was, I didn't mark it on a calendar. It was summer, three years ago...maybe August? July? Really, who cares? Those of you who care, please stop reading the blog and focus on getting a life. For reals. Please strike for reals from the record. Boyfriend crossed the moat and entered the castle where the stunning and vivacious princess greeted him. Wait. This was the first time Boyfriend came over ever. Did he get lost? No...his directions are only bad if I'm the source of them. Oh yeah, in that case, he would have gotten lost. When expected to show up at 7:00 pm, the valiant prince crossed the castle threshold at 2:54 pm the next afternoon. Which is why the flawless maiden greeted him so keenly. She had spent tireless hours wondering if his delayed arrival was due to a run-in with a dragon...that's a kind of gang, right? Oh please. We all know that I'm lying to you.
Prince Boyfriend and the fabulous princess embraced. I wrote you every day. As I you, Prince Boyfriend. Did you get my texts? I know sometimes through the mountains you lose cell service. You didn't get my replies to yon text messages? I texted you back twice. This is a conversation we still have at least once a week. Get a new phone Boyfriend! At this point his ears perk up when he hears commotion from the miser, and Prince Boyfriend looks alarmed. His hand goes to his hip where he keeps his chef knife/sword. Do you hear that? In the distance. Is there a threat to the Kingdom? Dear princess, you are too lovely to chance an encounter with a beast that creates such dreadful noise. It sounds much like the howls and echos that haunt the underbelly of hell. To my noble steed! The mazda I hath borrowed from a friend. Go devastating beauty, I will slay this wretched beast. Dude, that's my dog. C'mon I think he burrowed under the bed. Boyfriend and I go into my bedroom, kneel next to each other on the floor, and lift the blankets to gaze at the miser hiding in the shadows. That's mutt. Boyfriend's eyes dart back to the door, wondering if it's too late to make a run for that mazda. He's harmless, one second, I'll get him. I wiggle closer to him, eventually grabbing Mutt's collar with my fingers and I pry him unwillingly from under the bed and into the daylight that fills the room. I swear, the surprise on Boyfriend's face when he saw the size of my little rat dog was more hilarious than I could describe in words. Mutt at this time is barking and growling and bearing his teeth, that's my little angel for you. You have to earn his love. Boyfriend lifts his hand, thinks about giving him a pat, then thinks better of it immediately. Calm down. He won't want to attack you if you hold him. Though these words come out of my mouth as I essentially throw Mutt into Boyfriend's arms, I'm not sure if they're true. The good news is: Mutt was too surprised to do anything, so instead became frozen in Boyfriends arms with a look at me that said, "Woman, you have gone too far." They parted on mediocre terms after visit number one.
Visit number two with Mutt: Boyfriend swung by my work to grab my house keys. When I was walking home I saw in the distance somebody walking a rather poorly controlled white dog. It was Mutt and Boyfriend, with Mutt either leading the way or trying to outrun Boyfriend. It was too hard to tell.
Between visit number three and moving to the city near Boyfriend they fell in love. It happened so naturally I can't even claim to have witnessed the evolution. I should have kept a scrapbook. Now that Mutt and I have let Boyfriend move in, they've got their own thing going on. It's a dude love fest and I'm the third wheel. I think they prefer when I'm not around. I think Mutt loves him more than me...but I guess Boyfriend is the literal gravy train for that rat dog. Mutt eats better than most people because of Boyfriend. His love language is feeding you right. It must be, because he feeds me pretty good too.
The moment I knew it was true love between Prince Boyfriend and the miser was just a couple weeks ago, right before Christmas. Mutt's been having seizures, he did great shaking the martinis at our Christmas party. Just kidding, we didn't have a Christmas party. Mutt is kind of an alcoholic, but we don't judge each other in our house for our hobbies. Anyway, Mutt's seizures made us schedule a vet appointment with a new pet doc. I had to work, so Boyfriend brought mutt over town in his big redneck truck to go see what was up. They did blood work, updated shots, full physical, and then they asked Boyfriend to collect a urine sample. Poor, poor, Boyfriend. Mutt didn't have to go. Boyfriend called me after the appointment to say what happened, and that he just needed the little miser to lift a leg so he could collect the sample and then the boys could head on home. Mutt peed while Boyfriend and I were on the phone, so he missed catching it in his little container. As the story goes, a couple hours later, Mutt finally did it again and Boyfriend was overzealous and in his great effort to catch the stream, he took a little bit of the golden water to the back of his hand. I'm sorry, but you only do that for people you love. I told you, it's a love story.
Time for tea,
K
Post Script: For those of you that are interested, Mutt is in perfectly good health in spite of being epileptic. Boyfriend and I have to give him medicine every morning, and with our best efforts we've been getting Mutt to choke down his syringe of pink goodness. Yes, two on one isn't fair, but misers are difficult beings to deal with. And the prince, princess and miser lived happily ever after. Until the princess She Hulked and the prince moved to another continent.
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