It’s been about 35 and a half years since I wrote a Friday Fluff post. Maybe a little less time but who cares really. This post is not about anything important or spiritual. It’s just fluff. But frankly sometimes we need a little fluff and occasionally we can squeak a spiritual moment of our fluff, but don’t count on it today. Instead think of this as a completely marshmallow filled post. It’s all sticky and messy but void of any real nutritional value. You’ve been warned. So please don’t feel the need to send me messages about how empty and meaningless this is, or offer advice for any of the issues I mention. I don’t want advice really. Sometimes the advice drives me crazy. Like when I mention that life is too short to wear sensible shoes and I get scolded and talked down to as if you assume I water my flower beds while in 6 inch stilettoes. Really I don’t. Although my husband wishes I would.
Speaking of marshmallows, I took our dog to the vet yesterday. She (our dog Zoey, my Grandpuppy) has been scratching obsessively and gnawing at her flesh as if she were starving and it was her only food source. It’s sad really. Especially when we noticed that she had a spot on her back. And by spot I mean a giant patch of dry, dead, flaking smelly flesh. This paired with the excessive amount of hair loss causing me to vacuum 42 times a day just so that Lauren wasn’t buried alive in the piles growing in the corners of my hall. I considered referring to them as “dust bunnies” but these are less like bunnies and more like honey badgers. Clumps of fur with teeth and claws, waiting to spring out at unsuspecting humans wearing black pants.
So I take her to the Vet whose office is about 2 states east of us. But it’s so worth it, he’s a super nice guy and he knows the breeders we bought her from. He always asks, “Who are her parents?” and when I say Rooney and Dana he nods approvingly. There’s something to be said for that. Makes you feel all ‘I have a pure-bred and it’s so cool kind of thing.’ Except that we’ve never had any problems with mutts, only purebreds. We had to put Sam, our last German Shepherd, to sleep (the kind you never wake from) because she developed a pancreatic disorder. Sam wasn’t from the same breeders as Zoey. In fact Zoey’s breeders would not consider Sam’s breeders to be reputable at all and I’m pretty sure they would not have considered Sam a true German Shepherd. Maybe an American Shepherd but the hobo kind that you don’t invite to fancy dinner parties because they wouldn’t have any idea which fork to use. Zoey’s breeders have clients (not customers) from all over the world and they ship dogs to places I can’t pronounce and to people like Brittany Spears family in Louisiana and to NBA stars. But I don’t like for basketball so that doesn’t impress me.
This would be our fearless Zoey crawling into my lap.
The Vet said that Zoey has allergies. So he gave Zoey a shot, loaded me up with pills and gave me a prescription for more pills. Yes, Zoey is registered at the pharmacy, which always feels weird especially when I’m picking it up and they ask me when her birthday is and I can never remember. “Sometime in September and she’ll be 2 this year.” And I quickly shout out that it’s for my dog because I don’t want them to think that I don’t remember my own child’s birthday or that I’m on meth. Because if they think I’m on meth they’ll mark it in their book and they won’t sell me any more Sudafed.
Oh, and I never tied the “speaking of marshmallows” thing in. It turns out that a good way to give your dog pills is in a marshmallow. Who knew? I think I might start taking my pills in marshmallows too, or Rolo’s. Not that I take a lot of pills, but when I do it might be fun to have them surrounded in caramel and chocolate.
Speaking of birthdays, I turned another year older this week. For the first time ever I hesistate to throw my birthday number out there. It’s not a hideous number and most people think I look much younger than my actual number, but it’s a getting on the sketchy side of young. Ok fine, it’s no where near young. But it’s not really old either. I suppose that would depend on who you ask.
Lauren sang Happy Birthday to me when she woke up and then plunged right into “Are you one, are you two, are you three…?” To which I put her in a choke hold and wrapped my fingers over her mouth. I guess it was then that I realized I may have issues with the number this year.
Ok, it’s 45.
ButIstillgetcardedwheneverIbuyabottleofwine!!! *she maniacally shouted*
This is another moment when I will ask you not to offer input. Do not tell me that they HAVE to card everyone. Or that you don’t like the fact that I drink wine. Please, I’m 45 now.
1. I don’t care what you think (unless you love me and kindly agree with me.)
2. I’m 45, that’s my new pass on everything.
In other news…I’m going to be a mother-in-law. I can’t wait. My son (ok OUR son…my husband hates it when I do that…I usually say things like MY bedroom or MY house and he looks at me through squinty eyes and I touch his arm gently and say, of course I mean OUR _________) is marrying the sweetest most darling girl. The wedding is in November. Three days after my-OUR 25th Anniversary. Can you believe it? He tells the story of when he proposed over on his blog. It’s cute. You’ll smile.
Well, I planned on bridging more topics today but this has gone on way too long and I have a Pinterest project to do in my garden. Time to grab the stilettos and get to work.
Have a great weekend!