I Febreezed my dog. Nuff said.

It doesn't take a shrink to recognize that as a sign of utter sloth. And my dog weighs like seven pounds, and I bathed him last Sunday. I can wash him in one side of a double sink and he's very patient when being washed, but I preferred to get up from my sitting position only to go to the laundry room to get the big bottle of Febreeze (Costco purchase; big mistake. 2 bottles, each about six gallons in size and I'd have to own cotton mills all over cheap labor parts of the world to put a dent into even one of them. Contact me if you'd like the other bottle) and spray the back of my reclining and very lovely dog.

I should make clear that he is an omega dog, the opposite of the alpha dog for those of you who did not take Greek, have parents who moonlit as grammarians, or who matriculated at a college that did not have frats or sororities. I should also include those who are attracted to, date and/or marry bad boys. I have parents who are grammarians, who bemoan the absence of Greek and Latin from 'today's' primary and secondary education curricula; attended a school with two lame frats and one raucous ("you need 'D U' to spell "Dumb.") animal house, and have consistently been attracted to bad boys, date them but never marry them. But I am getting away from the dog. The canine one.

I think this marks the bottom or at least a really close to the bottom rung. So it's all up from here. But that means I have to get up from my sloth slither slop on the sofa. And I only do that to get the Febreeze.