Yesterday I had to go to the special, fancy dentist over the mountain and get put under again in yet another step of Project New Front Tooth for Laura. He gives me amnesia drugs and drills things through my bone and I can't even tell you about it because I've already forgotten. Then Gary drives me home and drags me into the house and puts me under the care of my therapy dogs.
Who jump around on my head and bark all day. Until I wake up and zombie shamble to the beach with them, all drug addled and hopefully wearing pants.
You're welcome, therapy dogs.
To be fair, only one of them is a card carrying therapy dog. He's the one that kept sitting on my head all day and I think ate an ice pack.
1 comment:
Mary, silly girl, all dogs have pants!
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