I was in a funk today. The morning started off all wrong. I woke up with a massive hangover, my nose was stuffy, my voice was slowly drifting away, and I was stuck outside; locked out of my apartment and out of my car. I have this habitual habit of locking my car doors manually, before I get out of the car, just as I had did on today. Instead, I opened the door, locked the doors, grabbed my bag of Kleenex and snicker bars, got out of the car, and shut the door. As soon as the door was shut, I knew I had locked my keys inside of my car. Hoping that I was wrong, I peeped inside my semi-tinted window, and there they were, sitting right on my seat. Wondering how I could have done something so silly? I, myself, did not have the answer to that. I thought that I had my routine down to the mark, the same routine I had for years, and on the day that I am sick and hanging over, I inconveniently break the routine. I then remembered that I have roadside assistance, and they were able to come out and unlock my doors, complimentary! YAY! It took the guy over an hour to get there and get the doors unlocked. But, who am I to complain? I guess having insurance is a good thing, depending on the day. By the time I was inside my cool and relaxed apartment, my snickers had melted, so I stuck the entire pack in the freezer to resuscitate them. Although, them melting was a pure sign from the “health fairy” that I did not need to eat them anyway! Mitzi was inside, posted up on the couch with her tail tucked underneath her, just a cooling it as if nothing had happened, and in her mind nothing did. I had left the television on for her, since she was a diva and loved to watch Bridezillas. Typical! As I went into the bathroom to wash the sweat away from my sun-scorched face, I noticed a trail of white furry shreds from the entry of my bathroom all the way into the bedroom and around the sides of the bed. I clinched and crossed my fingers, hoping that Mitzi had not gotten a hold of what I thought she had. As I followed the trail, I saw it! My heart dropped. There it lay. My brand new white linen pants that Benz bought me. I had them laid across the bed, before I left to run to the store, and forgot to hang them back up. Clearly, she had gotten a hold of them, and scratched and scratched the material so much that it ripped into shreds and shreds. I stood there for a minute, soaking in the moment and wondering how she could have destroyed them in just an hour and a half. Granted, Mitzi was not a misbehaved dog. I mean, she chewed uncommon things, like wood, plastic, pillows; ya know, weird things, NOT my clothes. This explained why she was sitting on the couch calmly, looking so innocent; and now I knew why her tail was tucked: it wagged in a circular rotation when she knew she had done something that I would not approve of. Tucking it was her way of not allowing me to see it move. As I checked back into the situation, I tried to figure out how I would reprimand her, something that I never went through with doing. Then, I tried to figure out how I would explain this to Benz. I started to pick the shreds off of the ground, and as I made my way back to the front door of my bedroom, there she was, laying flat on her stomach, face propped upon her two front paws, legs flat as a board, wagging her tail in that weird circular position. She laid there, so cute and adorable. Her dark baby doll eyes and furry ears could melt your soul in an instant. We both stared at each other for about thirty seconds. She won! I couldn’t do it. I looked at the pants, as they lay lifeless and picked over on the bed, grabbed them, took them into the kitchen, and trashed them. There was no room for recovery. They were destroyed. Mitzi followed me, tail still wagging. I picked her up, hugged her, tapped her on her little tush, and whispered in her ear, “Mommy loves you!” I’m a weak mommy, but I couldn’t dare punish her for an accident. She had never done anything like that, so I let her go with a doggy warning.
The rest of the day consisted of watching tons of reality tv, cuddling with Mitzi, blowing my nose, overdosing on Vitamin D3 and probiotics, chugging down GT’s Trilogy Kombucha, hot and cold flashes, more blowing my nose, a mean fever, starving but not being able to eat anything, dodging unwanted phone calls, endless showers to wash away all the sweat my body was putting out, all while thinking of a way to explain the death of my white line pants. So far, I had nothing. Not a single word. The only choice I had was to settle for the truth and just call and explain it to him. Boy, why did I do that? His argument was that that was the best story I had ever made up. Given that he knew the history of Mitzi being a hardcore diva dog, and only eating wood and plastic, he couldn’t fathom her ever touching an article of clothing. Frankly, at that point, I didn’t care that he didn’t believe me, nor did I even care about the white linen pants. I was still feeling like crap and the only thing my mind could comprehend was the comfortable bed I was itching to crawl into. So after hours of chaos and mass destruction, I decided to call it a night. Yes, at 8:30! Call me a grandma. That’s okay. This grandma was tired, ill, and ready to sleep away the day. I walked into the kitchen, which was literally five feet away from my couch, grabbed the frozen Snicker’s out of the fridge and sat them on the counter. I was too tired to even wait until they softened to bite into that warm, rich, sinful, caramel chocolate and pecan fun size bar. I walked toward the trash, where the white linen pants were hanging half in, half out. I quickly relived the very moment I saw the shreds, then I quickly got over it, again! I pulled them back out of the trash, searched around for the bag they came in, placed them inside, took them back to the trash and placed the entire bag back in the trash can. If I was going to bury the deceased and brutally devoured white linen pants, then it was only right to take them out of this world, the exact same way they came into this world: in a white and green “The W” plastic bad, with a cute little pink handle. So, there I was, having a silent funeral for an innocent pair of white linen pants that I never got to know or wear. I looked down to see if Mitzi was there waiting for me, which she usually was, and she was nowhere to be found. I cut the lights off in the kitchen and walked into the bedroom. There she was, already in bed, asleep. What a diva?! I mean, she could have at least attended the funeral for the pants she, herself, slaughtered. I laughed a vain laugh, hit the light, and crawled into bed. The rest was dog history!