I'm too tired to figure out pictures for this post.

Happy Valentine's Day. It's 3:09 AM as I type this. I was all ready to go to bed around 11pm. That's pretty early for me so instead of going straight to bed I decided to indulge in my most guilty pleasure - The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I am such a whore for the drama, man. That Dorit - she's such a pot stirrer.

It was a little after midnight when I was sliding the iPad under the bed (that's where I keep it when I'm not using it to watch The Real Housewives) and snuggling into my covers. The Man came in and said "Well, your dog ran off. Screw him."

The Man will totally just let the dog stay out all night and give no cares. He is not going to chase him or drive around or whatever. If the dog is dumb enough to run off, the dog deserves what he gets.

I, on the other hand, immediately jump out of bed and put my oversized sweatpants on to go find the dog. He could get hit by a car or bit by a raccoon or snatched up and taken to doggie jail. I need to go find him!

It was over an hour I guess. I drove - windows down - in the minivan, scouring the neighborhood, calling his name. I went further than I thought he could have gone and shined my high beams into way too many neighbor windows in my quest. Finally I spotted him on the sidewalk in front of our house. He seemed to be pretending he had been there the whole time.

"What Mom? I didn't run off at all!"

So in we went - the dog and I - and The Man gave the dog the look and the dog cowered like he is an abused creature and we decided to go to bed.

No sooner had The Man said "Hey Google - Master Bedroom Lights Off" than his phone started ringing. Who the hell is calling him at 2 in the morning?

William. Our oldest. Immediate fear strikes my heart. He's been in an accident. The ambulance is coming.

Nope - just a flat tire. "I'm stranded."

The oversized sweatpants went back on - The Man took off his cozy around-the-house shorts and put on his jeans - and off we went back in the minivan, this time to rescue our 18 year old and not our dog.

Conveniently, his old Honda is sitting in the parking lot of a tire repair center who will evidently have some new business immediately upon opening. Time for some sleep, y'all.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Slipping Through My Fingers All The Time

Who is this man where my little boy used to be?

7 Tips for Transitioning to a Vegan Diet