Let me back up a little bit. My mom (the vicodin-hoarding, blackjack-cheating woman I'm sure you all remember from previous posts) came in to town this weekend for my birthday. We did lots of fun stuff, like go to tea and hit the clearance sales around town. Nothing nearly as hairy as the things I've done in the past few years (I'm talking to you, mechanical bull at Cadillac Ranch!), but mature, adult birthday things that most 29-year-olds do with their mothers, I'm sure.
Anyhow, they left yesterday afternoon and things just got wild here. Tony and I took a nap with the dogs and then I got up and ate leftover birthday food for dinner. I had a slice of pizza and a handful of pastries from tea at the BonBonerie. Oh, and a single beer. I know, I'm crazy!
After an hour or two of TV, I was exhausted and decided to call it a night. It was 10p.m. That was when the bad decisions started. I agreed to let the dogs spend the night sleeping in our room instead of in their kennels. Things started off badly. Beau and Sarge were so excited to be sleeping in the big room that they wouldn't settle down. Sarge, who sleeps on the bed, kept jumping off to assault Beau, who because he weighs a trillion pounds, sleeps on the floor. If you've never heard my dogs fight, it's unnerving, to say the least. Add Sarge air-assault tactics to that, and you have quite a mess.
Then, Beau discovered that the fringe-y trim on his sleeping blanket made a great snack and had to be relieved of the blanket before he ate the whole thing, noisily. Once everyone had finally settled, I turned off the bedside light, only to discover that SOMEONE (me) had left the hall light on. So, Tony got up to turn it off, which resulted in EVERYONE getting up to check out the problem and us starting the settling-down process all over again. This is when I should have decided to put them downstairs, but I didn't.
For the next six hours, I was woken up approximately every 30 minutes by Beau heaving himself into the floor, wheezing, sneezing, snoring, licking, eating our down comforter and sticking his face in mine. He's tall enough to put his face even with yours on the mattress, which is really freaky at 3 a.m., when you feel warm, wet breath on your face and open your eyes to Beau's hairy, stinky face. Staggered with Beau's thrashings, I had to deal with Sarge stepping on my stomach, back, feet, legs, hair, mouth and eyes. This tiny dog takes up more room on a king-size bed than my husband, who outweighs him by more than 200 pounds.
At 5:45 this morning, Sarge woke up, rested and refreshed, and decided to start licking my face. I do not like having my face licked by anyone at 5:45 in the morning, so I punched him in the neck and rolled over. At 6:41, Beau woke up, rested and refreshed and started to lick my face. This is how he lets us know he's ready to go outside and potty. (This is better than his old method, which was to potty on the floor and look surprised.) I punched Beau in the neck, then punched Tony in the neck and told him to take his dog outside and leave me alone. He did. At 7, the alarm went off. I turned it off and tried to go back to sleep. At 7:05, the paving truck showed up outside my house, and the dogs lost their minds barking at it. Tony brought them in the house, where they spent the next 45 minutes standing in the dining room window, barking at the paving truck and fighting with each other over who got to bark first the next time it passed our house. I briefly considered going outside and punching the driver of the paving truck in the neck.
I got up at 8, demanded coffee and punched all three boys in the neck. Just to remind them who's the boss.
Moral of the story: If you ever hear me say, "I think it would be fun to sleep with the guys tonight!" please, punch me in the neck.
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