Thursday, December 24, 2009

Talking like a Pirate

This morning I woke up to a voice message from my human friend (he's not yet my boyfriend and I'm not sure what other moniker would be acceptable). It was short, sweet, and a little groggy - which made it all the more endearing. As I set off about my morning routine, I got the feeling that something was not right.

But I couldn't let it get me down. Instead, I decided to press forward with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. And then I saw it (insert ominous music). A luke warm pile of poo (duhn-Duhn-DUHNNNNNN). I was PISSED!


(You may think this question is not effective but I really only had a 50% chance of getting it wrong and I'm not above punishing all for the unconfessed sins of one.)

Hypothesis: Ginger crapped in my house, under the Christmas tree.
Goal: Find out who should be punished.
How: Ask (using teacher-voice "WHO'S POOP IS THIS!?!".
Result: Ginger slank away abashedly and Klea looked at me like I was crazy for not having doled out her morning treat yet.
Fact: Ginger crapped in my house, under the Christmas tree.

Now, I'm going to be straight with you. I knew it was Ginger. I'm a mom. I know the difference in their poop. But I didn't want to jump to conclusions, so I let her confess her sins and then rubbed her nose in it.

And that's just how the rest of this day has gone so far. Random shit just keeps showing up trying to steal my sunshine. But alas, me harties! I dreams of treasures told by the tales of men. I can see it gleaming before me eyes. For men, it's Christmas time! And I'll be damned if you can stop me from getting what's mine!


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