Well, it's time to get 2017 rolling.
And by "rolling," I mean skipping right over January, here at the blog, and jumping straight into February. You can do that when you're not famous. Besides, what really happened in January, anyway?
I started watching Hell On Wheels, and I'm SO glad I don't live in a covered wagon. Can we just talk about that for a second? I'd like to give a huge shout out to the pioneers because: No indoor plumbing, farm work in dresses, hunting food on a daily basis, and hand-washing underwear.
I think we can all agree Paige Kellerman would've made it about a day before dying of cholera. And my oxen died of cholera. And then my whole extended family. So thanks, Early Settlers!
Now then, I mentioned, back in December, my anxiety was at an all time high. But you'll be relieved to know I was able to get it under control, package it, and carefully move it right into January, where I let it run its course. Sure, I did things to relax, like filing my taxes and cleaning food out from under the kids' beds, but, in the end, it was dog hair that broke up my pity party.
Let's rewind to last year....
Me: I'm ok with getting a dog, as long as it doesn't shed very much.
Husband: Understood. I don't think labs shed a lot.
As it turns out, the Labrador Retriever, or Canis Familiaris, sheds enough to build several more Labradors. Consequently, any time I endeavored to feel sorry for myself in January, Ned Yost's coat activated and exploded on anything I remotely cared to keep clean. But, as with any animal Husband brings home, a year into the process is entirely too late to do anything to remedy the situation. Like mail him to Antarctica.
I'll let you be the judge as to which one I'm talking about.
Laundry time is my favorite time to reflect on all the ways life has been unfair to me, so of course this most special mental alcove of my day has been ruined by what dog information websites have informed me is, "moulting season." And it goes a little something like this...
"Ugh, student loans are due again. Why was it I needed higher education?"
*Opens washing machine*
"Because the interest is where they get you. Sure, the degree is nice, but maybe I should've looked into apprenticing as a blacksmith or a glassblower. Those people make a killing at renaissance festivals."
*Grabs wet laundry and strains to open dryer*
"Maybe I can barter some of this wet cra-"
*Stares at open dryer and lint trap in horror*
"Sweet mother of all that's good and holy."
Poof. And, just like that, I'm scraping eighty pounds of dog hair out of a machine, and piecing together a new, less mobile dog. (Dog hair sculptures available on request.)
It's been extremely frustrating, having to push aside drowning in puddles of self-loathing, in favor of meticulously pulling chocolate hair off couches, beds, dishware, mobile devices, the refrigerator, toilets, and some inexplicably stray strands in a fresh sports bra. *falls over dead*
No one has time to feel sorry for themselves in these conditions. And that's just sad.
And now that I've awkwardly made you my friend, come hang out with me on: