When we came back to my apartment last night after retrieving birthday cupcakes at Red Velvet Cupcakery, I immeditaely took of my tights. I’ve learned after the two previous winters spent living with a dog that tights + dog hair = gross. But, actually I’ve learned anything + dog hair = gross.
Case in point, my roommate had just bathed the dog before we came home. And wet matted dog hair was collecting on the carpet as the dog was free to roam around the living areas wet. Of course you wouldn’t keep a dog in a bedroom while wet! They can jump on the bed and make it soggy. Best to let it ruin the recently professionally cleaned carpet that I took the time to schedule the appointment and pay for since I was tired of living with dog hair everywhere.
The Fiancé and I are eating dinner out at a restaurant on Thanksgiving Day. When I inform people of our decision, I defend it with “I’ve cooked Thanksgiving alone twice before! I didn’t want to clean all those dishes again!” and “It will be cheaper!” both of which are true. But the real reason is because it would take more time and energy than I have with my current schedule to prepare my apartment to cook a Thanksgiving turkey. The Fiancé and I had a brief conversation about it last night:
Me: I would go insane if I had to cook Thanksgiving in that kitchen. You would find me not wearing any underwear . . .
Him: Why would underwear be the first thing to go if you were insane?
Me: Sorry, pants. I meant to say pants. You would find me standing in the kitchen wearing only my underwear and a white tank top, but my apron would be covering it all, with an oven mit on one hand as a knife is in the other hand tracing lines down my arm.
I actually really like both my roommate and the dog.
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