Me: I am going to find new homes for Vinnie and Pearl. I am the ONLY thirty-four year old woman I know that has pet lizards. The kids have NOTHING to do with them since their tails unexpectedly fell off while they were holding them. Thankyouverymuch for failing to inform us of this fun fact DICK who sold them to us. Anyway…
Three Days Later: I had resolved to drop the lizards off at a fire station when God thwarted my plans. “MOOOOOOOOM- PEARL IS BLEEDING AND CRICKETS ARE EATING HER!!!” I ran upstairs, peered into the aquarium and swallowed my throw up. Omg, it was just like that disturbing news story from a year ago when those super high on bath salts naked homeless guys were discovered eating each other’s faces on an overpass in LA. Except in my case, the homeless guys were crickets and they were probably not on drugs which makes it even more fucked up.
Conveniently, Mike is always out of town when whenever one of our pets is being violently consumed by deranged insects. I surgically extracted pieces of dead skin and debris with my super expensive tweezers and cleaned out her bloody, pus oozing wound. I inserted an IV and catheter and admitted her into a tupperware intensive care unit right next to my bed. I then set my alarm clock and woke up every two hours to give her water, dropper feed her food and apply more ointment to her back. For four consecutive nights. Not.A.Joke.
A few days later Pearl was seemingly improving and I informed Mike that I was “like a lizard whisperer” and “I could have totally been a doctor.” We crawled into bed, turned on a movie and I reached down to pick up Pearl. I was gently stroking her head when suddenly she looked up at me and fucking DIED. In.My.Hand. It was sooooooooo dramatic. Like her tongue popped out and her head just flopped over. I was absolutely speechless in a state of grief stricken shock, while Mike started laughing hysterically and condescendingly said, “You were saying hotshot?” My eyes narrowed…
Mike never takes me seriously and Pearl’s sudden and unexpected death got me thinking. Let it be known: If I should get eaten by crickets, I want whatever is left of me to be buried with my Louis Vuitton purse. If I am cremated then do NOT burn the purse. A Louis must never, ever be burned; the mere thought of that makes me ill. Please tell Mike to put my ashes in the zipper portion of said purse and place it on top of the mantel for everyone to admire for years to come preferably under a giant portrait of me. I would also like a long, drawn out extravagant funeral.
Moving on, we are finally having the boy that everyone always asks us if we are going to try for because it is extremely relevant in modern society to bear a male heir. Anyway, I wasn’t planning on having any more but sometimes it is funny how things work out. It was beautiful really…my dog’s irritable bowel syndrome started acting up, I went to the vet to pick up her special food, at the EXACT same time a woman was there with her five purebred Yorkie puppies. Um hi, this was basically like a flashing, neon sign from the big man himself. Is Pearl’s death still such a rib tickler now Mike? (Me batting my eyelashes)
I went home and informed Mike that the puppies were going to be put down due to overcrowding in the breeder’s home and the least we could do was buy one and give it a fighting chance at life. Sooooooo, now we have a Yorkie son named Dexter AKA Sexter. The dog literally humps everything except me.
Of all the issues I have, I never thought not being humped by a dog would be one of them, but my feelings are seriously hurt. Mike, the kids, my mom’s male cat, stuffed animals, a towel, a leaf, the couch, oxygen particles….seriously WTF? And because my children keep yelling, “MOOOOOOOM DEXTER IS TRYING TO MATE WITH ME AGAIN!!!” I had to explain to their teachers that Dexter is a two pound puppy just to avoid the whole CPS runaround.
Anyway, I have shit to do now. I hope you have a delightful week. Love to each and every one of you especially Gary in Dallas! XO