Conversations With…The Dog

Me:  Mags, stop eating the sock.

Mags: I love socks.  Socks are heaven.  This one is my precious.  You can’t have it.  STOP LOOKING AT IT.  IT’S MINE.

Me: If you get all paranoid and possessive I will take that from you.

Mags: Oh, no you won’t!  You have to catch me first!

Me: Oh, God.  I’m not chasing you.   This is me walking away.

Mags: Okay, but look at the sock I have.  I’m going to follow you, and jump on you and pee on the floor from how exciting this sock is.

Me:  Ugh, stop being so annoying and PUT DOWN THE DAMNED SOCK!

Mags:  No.  I love the sock.  The sock loves me.  We are inseparable.  We Looooove each other.

Me:  You know the sock is a thing and not a living breathing thing, right?

Mags: Tsk, you doubt my intelligence human.  Now stop bothering me and look at my sock.

Me:  No

Mags: YES! LOOK AT MY SOCK. IT’S A GLORIOUS SOCK!!!

Me: Stop chewing bits off of it and eating it.  You’re going to get digestive problems

Mags: NO, I WON’T!  I LOVE MY SOCK!!!!

Me:  Here look.  Cheerios.  Cheerios are better to eat than socks.   Gawd, I think I said that to one of the kids before….

Mags: WHAT?!   YOU HAVE CHEERIOS?!

Me: Yes, and I’m just going to casually lay them here on the bed so you can eat them…see?

Mags: Hmmm….but, sock though…

Me:  Cheerios, Mags.  Come and have some cheerios…yummmm…

Mags:  Well, maybe just one…

Me: *snatches sock from floor as Mags eats Cheerios*

Mags:  I love Cheerios!

Me:  I know, Mags.  I know….

Maggie 2013

It’s like she’s saying, “Fuck You and give me a sock” but in a cute puppy way…

 

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Sock Wars – Like Star Wars, Only With A Psychotic Puppy. And No Robots.

I have no idea what shit goes down at my house when I’m at work, but I’m sure it has something to do with all of my missing socks…and Mags.  She secretly hordes them, I swear.  I’ll find a random sock sticking out of the bottom of the bed or under a chair or strewn haphazardly on the floor and think “Where’s the matching one?  How did that get there?”  I see her looking at me all:

“What?  OH, YOU THINK I DID THAT, IS THAT IT?  I’M SUDDENLY THE BAD BITCH, NOW?  PFFFFTT…PUHLEASE.  I’M BETTER THAN THAT…WAIT.  ARE YOU USING THAT SOCK RIGHT NOW?” 

  “You mean the one that I’m currently WEARING?”

  “YEAH. NOT THAT I WANT IT, BUT ARE YOU?  I SO COULD……..NEVERMIND.”

“Sock whore…”

“Oh, yeah?  I think you just put a clean comforter on your bed…”

*Gasp*  “YOU WOULDN’T!”

“Who’s the bitch, now?” 

*rips off sock*  “Look, Maggie.  I got a pretty socky for you!”

“Oh!  GOODY, GOODY!! GIMMEE GIMMEE GIMMEE!!!!!!” 

Mmmm, hmmmm……..

Addiction is difficult.  There will be an intervention, I'm sure of it.

“What?  Oh, these?  It’s nothing.  You see nothing, you got it?”

 

The word on the street that the Mob would have us relocate is getting to be more of a fact, than a rumor.  Now the question remains as to where to relocate the wonderful Kayjai-kin?  Aye, there’s the rub.  We are still in limbo, but the horizon looks very wheat-fieldy or Island Life, The Extreme North Edition.  Essentially, they want to haul us off to rural areas.  Maybe we have been city-folk way too long for their liking?  Ugh…go west old man, never seemed all that appealing to me.  Can I get a witness?  Hell, no we won’t go! 

As an aside, Hubby is quaking in his high browns, but we remain positive until the hammer comes down all definitive-like. No use panicking about something that may not happen.  With two daughters in Uni (D1 just got accepted to Nursing.  Can I get a ‘hell yeah’?!)   the prospects of having to go yonder ways to where they would have to either start a different university or stay here in residence is daunting and tipped on the side of inane.  Ugh.   

So for now, we sit and wait while the map is outstretched before the Mob Boss as he throws one hand over his closed eyes and with his other hand, juts his pointed finger towards the map and BAM!  We have been relocated.  Congratulations, Kayjai-folk!   

And THAT, good people is how it’s done….

True story.