My best friend is not feeling well. Poor Marley seems to have acquired some lousy stomach bug. He’s such a trooper; the only indicator that he’s sick is that he isn’t quite as persistent that you throw his hedgehog.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
He came into the bedroom last night as he always does and settled down to sleep on his bed. We’d all been up late watching LOST (which the fuckwit network execs moved to 10pm ostensibly due to all the orgy-sex they’ve added to the plot*) and so I was pretty well crashed out when Marley came to wake me up at around 2am.
Having finally acknowledged that it was my dog and not a Shakira/Karin hybrid that was licking me, I dragged myself out of bed to let Marley out of the bedroom.
My foot found the puddle of poo before my nose did. Of course, each and every toe immediately awakened both members of the slumbering Nostril Guard with cries of “AAAAAH! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK! WHERE WAS OUR OLFACTORY EARLY WARNING!? SOMEONE’S GONNA PAY!”
Of course, once Nasal-L and Nasal-R were aware of the situation, they immediately felt compelled to inform Commander Gag who, being a rather edgy guy anyway, threw a tantrum that pretty much incapacitated me.
So there I am, standing on my one unsoiled foot, convulsing violently, and Marley’s waiting by the door doing the “You Ain’t Seen Nothin’ Yet” dance. In between dry heaves, it occurs to me that after I open the bedroom door, I must make a hard decision: Do I hop behind Marley to the back slider and let him outside or do I make a pitstop to boil my toes first?
The thought of Karin finding me at the bottom of the stairs dead, naked, and with shit all over my left foot was enough to steer me toward the bathroom.
Having washed up, I went to check on Marley, fully expecting him to have made even more work for me. Thankfully, he was lying on the couch and I could neither see nor smell evidence of another accident. I asked him if he wanted to go outside, but he only sighed and gave me a forlorn look. I think he felt bad about the revolting manner in which I learned of his offense.
It was easily close to an hour before everything normalized and I found my way back to bed. But as is common after experiencing unexpected and bizarre trauma in the wee hours of the night, it was quite impossible to go back to sleep with any sort of quickness. My mind just bounced around between everything from “Did I get the water hot enough?” to “I really should have taken the recent rise in Marley’s flatulence more seriously”.
Anyway, that was all a very long-winded and disgusting way of informing you that I am hella tired today and having a rough go of it. I could have just said that to begin with, but what kind of blog post would that have been?
*No, not really. SPOILER ALERT! What I meant to say instead of "orgy-sex" was "ruthless killing".