My mornings...waking up to birds chirping, sunshine streaming thru the window. I push back the covers with a smile on my face...emerald green silk negligee unwrinkled, red hair flowing down my back. I languidly stroll into the kitchen and push the button on the coffee maker. The Main Man has thoughtfully restocked the beans flown in from Costa Rica and filled the carafe with water from the virgin springs of the Andes. Stella, Lola and Dolce are sitting obediently at my feet...waiting patiently for some affection from their adoring, rested goddess of a woman. I read the morning paper. All articles within are filled with World Peace and harmony. The Dior shoes I j'adore are on sale for $49.99. My day is good.
Hell, no! I wake up to a 90lb greyhound jumping on the bed...one paw square on my right boob. (I hate that word, but I hate titty even more and breast is so damn clinical). I drag my tired ass out of bed. I'm wearing a toile cotton nightgown that has pockets. Why the fuck does it have pockets? Do my car keys go in there? Just in case I take an Ambien fueled late night visit to the convenience store down the street? I blindly search for my naughty librarian glasses while the Italian Greyhound Dolce is pawing at my red dreads that manifest overnight. I must be breakdancing on my head during my fevered dreams. How does this happen?!
Ring, Ding, Ding, Ding, Ring...ad nauseam. The fucking bell! I'm being summoned by the fucking bell!! You see, I thought I was a genius teaching my whippet Stella to ring a bell when she wants to go outside. But, the problem is....she rings it when she wants me to wake up, when she wants to sunbathe on the flagstones, when she sees a bug, when she wants to gaze out the front gate to see if someone is having more fun than she is, when she wants food, and sometimes...only sometimes...when she needs to really go outside for the reason this whole fucking bell idea began.
This morning she's ringing because she wants my ass out of bed so that I can feed her bottomless pit. See the chair in front of the pantry? No...there isn't a pantry monster that I'm trying to keep in. Stella can use her grasping little devil hooves to open the door. She wraps her talons around the handle and walks backwards..."ta da Mommy, see what I did?! I can eat all the fucking food I want!"
The feeding process involves feeding Stella in the kitchen first. She will not stop barking until she is gorging on her food. Then I have to feed Lola the greyhound outside...so that Stella won't eat all of her food. Then Dolce gets fed upstairs behind a gate. After Stella is done, she barks at the door so that she can lick Lola's bowl then she races upstairs and tries to batter down the gate so that she can finish Dolce's. Then...she rings the bell. She wants more...always more, more, more.
Ring, Ring, Ding, Ring, Ding...for the love of god...any god...shut the fuck up!
What's truly fucked up?! She's my favorite.
Oh yeah...I better mention that The Main Man does make me coffee every morning...that bit of the fantasy morning is true. He's a peach like that. The coffee beans come from the grocery and the water comes out of the fridge.
Please ignore all fucked up punctuation and spelling...I'm a bit frazzled.
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