Huh?!?

So, Sis accused me of being on drugs yesterday. She claims that she has "never seen me so animated" before. Whoa. Where the heck has she been? I'm practically inked and painted, I'm so friggin animated. But, whatever. And she may have a point.

Hubs and I met for lunch yesterday, on account of the fact that I work late and he's been putting in 8 hours of overtime this week. So, we're sitting and talking and I SWEAR I was trying to pay attention to Hubs, but there was this guy at a table that was just to the left of my line of sight. This guy had letters tattooed down his left arm. Big letters, that (as I managed to puzzle out) spelled "Andrew". So, it made me think: Who is Andrew? Is that the big tattooed-guy's name? Does he have a condition? Maybe it's his son's name, now isn't that sweet? Wait a second, he's got ANOTHER name down his other arm! It says "Carnegie"...no..wait, it's Carleigh! Oh great, he's got two kids and two names. What happens if he and the missus have a little too much pinot grigio one night, things heat up, and then HE HAS NO OTHER ARM TO PUT THE NEW BABY'S NAME ON. Oh geez, you've really tattooed yourself into a corner there pal.

All the while, Hubs continues to talk, completely ignoring my despair for Mr. Tattoo's nameless, no room at the inn (er, on the arm) youngest progeny and so I refocus on the conversation until OHMYGOSH does the guy behind me have tuberculosis or WHAT?!? Here I am, trying to enjoy a delicious 2 piece leg and thigh meal (with seasoned fries for my "fixin") and Doc Holiday over there is forcing a lung up within 2 feet of my medium Cherry. No, not Cherry soda, the drink is just called "cherry". Anyway, I'm pondering whether or not I'm going to become the next Satine in La Bojangles Rouge, and that's kind of worrisome because while I do enjoy bursting into song and honest zitar players, I would look HORRIBLE in a sequined body suit.

Wait, what was I talking about again?

Et tu, Beef Jerk-ay?

So, hubs has been sneaking the furry one some midnight snacks (Yes, he is the midnight snacker what snacks at midnight)

How did I figure this out? Well, I was on the couch, expecting some snuggling with the furry one. Why? Well, I am the one who found the furry one and adopted him; I walk him, feed him, play with him and lavish him with attention. Normally, mine is the lap he comes running for. This time, though, he goes hurtling by me and settles into hubs lap. Hrm. Whatever. Then, the night night, same thing. Being the sensitive goddess I am, I feel rather hurt by this, but stoically soldier on, cold lapped and ignored though I am. I must have been radiating miserableness because hubs sheepishly looks over and says "Um, I guess it's the beef jerky I have at night"

Can you feel my eyebrow quirking here? Mr. "We are not going to spoil this dog" has been feeding the furry one BEEF JERKY?!? Secretly, while I get my goddess-y z's so that I can get up and the friggin crack of dawn to walk oh furry one and still get to work on time? Yeah. Hrm.