Functional with Flair

My dog almost died today.

Now many of you might be thinking, “Aw, did she have a close call with a car? Was she sick? Did aliens transport her to their mother ship for a week to conduct experiments on her and forget to feed her?” No, no, and no.

I almost killed her today.

I was lead to believe that I might have five minutes to myself this afternoon, so I chose to spend my time in the bath tub. No five minute scrub, rinse, ta da I’m clean kind of bath, more of a hot tub of bubbles I felt like relaxing in and ultimately taking a nap in for the better part of the day. About half way into my steaming, I was covered in soap, conditioner in my hair, when my brother decided to come home early, let the dogs out, and my dog Abigail decided to make a beeline for the main street.

For some reason my brother couldn’t capture her on his own so he comes running up the stairs and pounds on the door informing me that I need to get my ass out of the bath tub and help him.

With what I consider to be a minimal amount of swearing, I hauled myself from my sweet, cozy tub, soap suds and all, threw on whatever clothes I could reach, which just so happened to be my pajamas, and ran out the door. Minutes later I found myself uptown, still wet, and wearing nothing but a tank top, shorts, and tennis shoes, dragging that BITCH home as she pulled to get away and keep running, happily panting, ignorant or indifferent to my rage-- still not sure which.

I could of killed her.

I should of killed her.

Oh, and happy New Year.