Some of you know that The Sir has been under the weather this week. He’s had a bit of a stomach bug. That combined with the INSANE HEAT, means that The Boy is on a lower energy setting than usual. I know. I didn’t know there was a lower setting than, “No thanks, you can go fetch the tennis ball, I’ll just stay in here and keep the couch down and the telly watched.”, either. But he’s now on the mend, thanks to some antibiotics.
He even felt like chewing last night.
But we’re still on the antibiotics. And cramming a tiny pill down the throat of my suddenly mistrustful 90-lb delicate flower isn’t quite as fun as it sounds. So I resorted to our usual tactic of hiding the pill in a peanut butter sandwich. (I swear, I have a point.) I had no sandwich bread, so The Sir became the first Labrador in history that had his peanut butter sandwiches on baguette. It’s been awhile since I’ve been to the store. At first, it was just at the stage of, “I need milk and bread. And whatever chocolate happens to hop into the basket. And a magazine.” But then I got busy, and didn’t go. And now, we’ve skipped right over the, “Well, ramen and canned peas aren’t a CLASSIC combination but it’ll work.”, stage and we are straight into, “Frat House At The End of The Semester”, stage. I’ve got olives and capers because WE AREN’T SAVAGES HERE, but the baguette got moldy a few days ago. I can swing by some place with a drive through (seriously, people, it’s too hot to leave the car) and get something for myself to stave off hunger, and The Boy’s got kibble, so we’re not starving. (Summary of the last sentence? “wah wah wah first world problems”)
But I have now officially run out of antibiotic disguises. The boy got his morning dose today wrapped in a bowtie pasta with a delicate parmesan cream sauce. What was officially the last bit of food in the house. In my fridge, I have canned beer (you are right to judge me…), boxed wine, and Green Tabasco. In my freezer? Vodka and my emergency Haagen Dasz. Or however you spell it.
The thing is, it’s sort of become a point of internal fascination…just HOW LONG can I go without a run to the store? (I mean, it’s too hot to cook, and I’m uninspired.) I’m really afraid that if I don’t shake myself out of this weird mental fixation soon, I’ll start to run out of the real necessities…TP and laundry detergent. If I do, please stage some kind of intervention. You know it’s my place because it will smell FUNKY. Kind of like a frat house at the end of the semester.
PS-Otto the Amazing Golden Retriever is under the weather, like, for realsies. The Boys are praying for him, and I’m sure Otto would appreciate all of your good thoughts!
(See? He’s so regal. And handsome.)