I know, it’s probably colder where you are. But fifteen degrees? In North Carolina? That’s just not RIGHT. I’m sitting here, huddled over my laptop: it’s even cold INSIDE. Jeez. Is it May yet?
So last night, after dinner, I settle in with my DVD of the Office, ready to watch a few episodes. I watch one. Then another. There’s one more on the disc, so I decide to watch that one too. What I didn’t realize was that IT WAS THE LAST ONE. What? When it was over, I jumped up, looking for the next disc…but no. It was the season finale of season two, and remember how a bunch of you said that the minute I watched it, I’d be on iTunes downloading the beginning of the third season? You were right. We watched it about twenty minutes later. Now, I’m buying all the eps so far, so I can get caught up, preferably before Thursday. I believe this is what they call an addiction. Maybe I should seek help?
Meanwhile, I’m up early this morning, with a full day ahead of stuff to do. Which means that in a few minutes, I’ll be bundling up, gloves hat scarf, and going out to start my car so it can warm up. There’s just something so nice, on a cold morning, about slipping into a warm car. It makes it not great, but bearable. Of course, if you’re me, the act of warming the car up is complex, as my dogs have this habit of going completely bananas whenever I step out of the house. I’m not sure what it’s all about: pre-separation anxiety? Expectations that they might, this time, actually be making the trip with me? Whatever the reason, the minute I pick up my keys, it begins: Monkey starts to whine, and Coco, just to help, then attacks him. Cue the snarling, yelping, crashing into my legs when I try to get to the door, and, once through it, the mad hurling of of themselves at the glass, bang! bang! while barking non-stop. I swear, they make more of a fuss when I leave than when someone is trying to get IN. Clearly, I need the Dog Whisperer, or something. I mean, normal dogs don’t do this. Do they?
I don’t think so. In fact, most of my friend’s dogs sit quietly when people leave, sniff at you disinterestedly when you come in, and are seen and not heard the rest of the time. I feel like those people on SuperNanny, with the wild children That Cannot Be Tamed. “I don’t know how this happened!” they say, and you think, Yeah, right. But seriously: I don’t. Is it me? My nervous nature? You have to wonder. Maybe they’ll just grow out of it. One can hope, anyway.
In the meantime, I’ve got to go get ready for battle. Wish me luck…