I was stuck late at work today. The week before Xmas is supposed to be slow, but it's been crazy for me this year. I cabbed home, shoveled my sidewalk, slushed inside, and picked up a piece of chocolate to eat while delayering. My dog, Millie, rushed me and sat, head way up high at attention. This is her "I am an ASTONISHINGLY good dog" pose. We had this talk:
Me: Millie, this is my chocolate.
Millie: squeak-hmmmmm.
Me: No, Millie, this is MY chocolate. My. Chocolate.
Millie: hrrrrrhmmm*yawn*week.
Me: You shouldn't even want my chocolate. It will make you sick. Remember how sick you got that one day you snorked that peanut butter cup out of the bag hanging on the back of one of the dining room chairs? You couldn't stop pooping!
Millie: hur-hur-hur-hur-hur-hur-hur-hur-*sigh*
Me: I know, I know. Life is hard.
Millie:*poot*
Me: Did you just fart?!?
Then I fled.
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