It's only my second day out in the sun with short sleeves, and I already have the beginnings of a sun rash. If I scratch that sucker, it's going to travel all up my arm. Must. Restrain. Myself. Damn my sensitive skin.
My Better Half and I took our first trip to PetSmart today. We wanted to look at dog crates, food dishes, etc, to make sure we were well prepared for the incoming ball of puppy we'll be getting in June. After looking at various products, cooing at some of the toys and poo-pooing some of the food, I turned to my BH and said, "You know, it feels like we're having a baby." (Not that we've had one, but really, I imagine the preparations feel a bit like this. I think we even have to buy a baby gate and baby wipes.)
Then we bought a book called "Bulldogs For Dummies" or something, and read a particularly amusing line about how bulldogs will always be convinced they are lap dogs, no matter how huge they are, and no matter whether or not they will crush you with their love. I guffawed at the line about how athletes should not get bulldogs, because they will "watch you enthusiastically" when you exercise, but "will not join you." This is the dog for me! I also read that they love giving big wet kisses, but that this can be a problem if they occasionally eat poo.
Yes. I can see how that would be a problem. Big wet poo kisses. Sounds... Unappetizing.
Still. Can you tell I'm excited? Because I am. My dreams were consumed by thoughts of bulldogs again last night.
I think I'll go re-read my bulldog book, but this time I'll highlight as I go. Because THAT is what exciting Sundays are all about, my friends.