I am losing patience with the devil dog.
I'm not having the greatest day to begin with - I just took one of my best pair of pants out of the washer to find them covered in brown spots. Do you know how hard it is for me to find a great pair of pants? Do you? The fashion industry does not take kindly to women who actually look like real live women. I'm just saying. I have hips, people.
This followed the breaking of the one hairbrush that can straighten this crazy hair of mine. How did I break it, you ask? The devil dog. No, I didn't beat him with it, but man, was that tempting at the time.* The poor thing (my hairbrush, not the dog) ended its long life by smashing into the bathroom tile, as I swung down my arm rapidly to point at the floor and screamed "CHASE, GET BACK HERE!" God, my blood pressure is rising just thinking about it. See, after a full day of viciously eating the faces of my friends and any deliverypersons who dare visit, Chase likes to wind down by viciously attacking the washing machine as it changes cycles every three minutes. Every. Single. Time. We. Do. Laundry.
Chase, for some reason, often likes to sit with me in the bathroom as I'm getting ready in the morning, so I had managed to cajole him in there with me while I was blow drying my hair, and after saying, speaking sternly, and finally bellowing and pushing his back-side, managed to get him to sit down. A few times - though he motioned as if he was about to spring into attack-mode - he actually stayed in the bathroom as the washer changed rhythms. I should have just closed the door, but it's a very small space so I felt bad trapping him. Then suddenly he burst into action, running full tilt at the innocent machinery that was blindly going about its business, and slammed into it, growling and barking like a rabid rottweiler. This is where I lost it - both my mind, and the brush as it slipped through my fingers. And, by the way, I was only straigtening my hair because I have to get up really early tomorrow and wanted to save myself some time, but instead I just wasted half an hour, with half my hair nice and shiny and the other half frizzy and sticking out in all directions. I know you care.
To round out the evening, Chase promptly went upstairs and tore up half the trash in my bedroom. So it's come to this: I'm just going to have to put him down tomorrow. Sorry, buddy, but the devil's been asking about you anyway.
*Two-Timing the Cosmos does not endorse the beating of dogs with hairbrushes, or with anything else for that matter. Unless he actually turns out the be the devil; then I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do.