A Wife of My Own

Someday, I'll tell my mom that I have a dog but for now, that's a lecture that can wait.
My dog is totally cool, by the way. She knows her name and she sleeps a lot (semi-active - yeah!) and she is totally picky about where she unloads her waste products.
This is not an animal who is going to piss all over the house... I mean she does right now but she is a baby and I'm trying not to train her too hard-core to pee on puppy pads because, if you'll see my open letter to PetsMart in the previous post, you'll know that I don't want to be the tool at the dog park who has to whip out a plastic-backed, absorbant pad in order for my dog to be able to do her business.

I almost called in today... my stomach is all rolly and has been for a couple of days. I'm sure that has nothing to do with the Refreshing White Box-o-Wine that my neighbor and I dug into on Saturday night. And yes, we drank it in pint glasses with lots of ice. We are broke, dudes, and I am beyond the point of pretending. I've decided to embrace my financial limits for the summer and party-on like a pre-lotto winner in a Kentucky trailer park.
If I ever hit the lotto, I've realized that I'd need to hire someone who will stop me from purchasing things for their comedic, or ironic value. For example, if I win the lotto and I walk into a specialty store and I say, "I'd like to buy that Foreigner Gold Record Bar Back, with the gold-veiny mirror mounting? Yes, that one, put it on my tab," I'll need someone in place to stop me. Someone who understands that while the Foreigner gold record might be cooly conversational, I don't need them to be a bar back, mounted on veiny 80's mirror tiles.
It's true. I would totally be one of those lotto winners who buys a giant house in a small town, gets four convertibles, one of which is like Barbie pink with white fur-covered seats and a white leather steering wheel, and then proceeds to "invest" in things like Cocal-Cola Red Hot Summer memorobilia and life-sized, autographed pictures of the 90210 cast.
That house would be all kinds of weird. Theme rooms, secret exits, and a Kegerator in the bathroom are totally my style.
As a lotto-winner, I would have a hard time restraining myself from hiring a muralist and having a recreation of the sun setting over Key West painted on the side of the manse that faces the pool.
I'm all kinds of lazy today. I had a weekend of beauty and frankly, I could get into not working. I have a great tan, my nails look great, everything that needs plucking is plucked and my place is clean. If it was my job to manage these enjoyable tasks and if I could get paid to do so, I would become my own housewife.
I'd make sure dinner was healthy and fresh.
I'd make the bed in the morning.
I'd spend time with the pets, individually, so that each knows how very lovely and special she is to me. Then, I'd make up little educatonal games for all of us to participate in and thereby bring the family even closer.
I'd watch Dr. Phil and learn about other housewives, those unfortunates who are housewives to other people not to themselves. I'd click my teeth disapprovingly and shake head in sympathy for their sheltered and bonded situations.
"That's so sad. Her husband cheated with his receptionist and now she has no job skills and all she knows how to do is look after someone else," I'd think to myself.
"You know, Rosie, I am so pleased that we don't have to worry about someone cheating or stealing or... Maggie!
Drop it!
You can't eat that bird in here!
Now where was I?
Oh yes.
Lucky to have a wife like me for myself."

She's so lucky.
She's a star.
She's kind of crazy but it's (knock knock knock) really cute.

Dammit, there are three vice presidents hanging out in the office next to me. I am pretty sure that at least one *might* notice that I'm smiling and therefore probably not working on Insurance.

It's 11:11, make a wish!

arizonasarah at 11:11 a.m.

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