It started on Sunday, when I attempted to make a variety of different very simple foods (think pasta salad, but with only pasta and like, one other ingredient) and failed at every. Single. One.
Then I fell up the concrete stairs to our duplex while carrying my bike, which resulted in my legs being all sorts of lovely colors. This wouldn't be a big deal, except that the building in which I work may not actually have air conditioning. This leaves me with the choice of being sweaty and gross all day wearing pants to cover my red-purple-yellow-blue legs, or hey, self - just man up and wear a skirt and be more comfortable.
So I tried to match my cardigans to my bruises this week. For the most part, it went okay.
A variety of less-interesting, slightly more severe sneaky hate spiral-y things happened. Then, yesterday morning as I was leaving for work... the puppy saw a bunny.
Now, we have a puppy. He is nearly six months old, which makes him almost NOT a puppy, but I'm told that dogs act like puppies until they're about two, so... he's still very much a puppy. For the most part, he is adorable and does things like this:
He is not interested in hunting bunnies. He is not interested in eating bunnies. He just saw a small, fluffy thing bouncing around our yard as I was leaving for work and taking him to doggy day care, and he thought, "Hey! That's my best friend! Oh, Fluffbottom McBunnybuns, you are my new best friend even though we've never met and we are natural enemies! Come play with me!"
Unfortunately, I had been lulled into a false sense of security by Beorn (aforementioned puppy). Until yesterday, when I took him to doggy day care as I was leaving for work, he would run around the yard like a giddy little schoolboy, perhaps pee, and then bound over to me as soon as I opened the car door, knowing that wherever we went, we were going on a grand adventure together.
Fluffbottom McBunnybuns changed everything.
Beorn bounded into the tall grass after his new bunny "friend." Beorn is not tall enough for me to see in this grass, and decided he did not want to listen to me telling him with great "calm and assertive" (*cough*caesarmillan*cough*) voice that he ought to "COME BEORN." Oh no!
Beorn decided his new favorite thing, since he could not play with Fluffer McBunnybuns, was to run around the yard getting muddy (did I mention that it has been pouring here for the last four days? It has). What fun Beorn had! I, the stupid owner, attempted to lure him with treats! I attempted to call to him in an excited tone! I attempted to step on Beorn's leash as he sprinted past me in circles!
I fell many times in the mud. I fell on gravel. I fell on my own car keys. I fell in the wet grass. I fell and my shoes fell off. I fell in my work clothes.
This went on for, I am not joking, ten minutes. Beorn is the slowest dog at the dog park, but he is still significantly faster than I am. I only caught up to him when he stopped to poop. And let me tell you, I am a really nice person, but it was really hard to explain to Beorn in a calm tone of voice that he was being a little poophead.
And that is the story of how I went to work covered in mud and my own blood yesterday. I am a hot mess, and a responsible grown-up, and totally have my stuff together.
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