So you know I'm a helpless spaz, right? Don't worry, you're not offending me, I am quite aware of this character flaw. If there was a 12-step program for spazoids, I'd be in it. Enrolled, but I'm such a spaz that I'd only make to step 3 before some domestic diaster would befall me and I would become distracted by something shiny in a size 8, and then I would forget to go to all of the meetings.
But there is one thing this spaz can't handle--and that's Jingle escaping.
This happens on a weekly basis. Never my kids, but some unsuspecting person leaves 2 centimeters between their body and the door, or takes more than .0007 seconds to walk in the house. The canine Houdini can escape any holding cell.
So today, the guy installing a new screen door in the back lanai leaves the gate open. I hate the guy installing the new screen door on the back lanai. I want to smash him with the new screen door and then go make him explain to my kids why their dog only has three legs now. Who leaves a freaking gate open at someone's house with a dog barking at the window?
Anyway, the 26 mile marathon begins. Even though I swear every time that I will not chase that dog--she is faster than um, well..a dog that's just been let out from the idiot guy installing the new screen door on the back lanai. We can't catch her.
But after 4 hours of fruitless pursuit through ponds, backyards, the Siberian steppes, we decide to give up. One last pass with the car, and then we'll have to go home and print up posters that read: "Lost Cheetah. No Reward."
But lo and behold, 2 neighborhoods over, some nice woman is holding the idiot dog by the collar in her driveway.
It's the Mayor's wife.
The First Lady of Safety Harbor has my stinking, filthy, dripping beast. Sheepishly, I take Jingle into my car, apologizing profusely for having such a spaz for a dog.
Irony is cruel. And exhausting.
And smells like a retention pond.
So I am preparing for Matty's First Communion amongst other things this week.