Dirty Treasure

I have looked for a dog for months. For Mother's day Seth got me a puppy! She's a Brittany Spaniel and very adorable. Since she's a puppy I'm having to house break her. She's doing pretty good but it's a BIG JOB to house break a dog. Every thirty minutes I have to take her out. She's had a few accidents but not many. She's more work than a KID!

It's Friday night and I'm supposed to on a "date night" with Seth. Only problem is that I've been puking my guts up. So, Seth and I are on the bed (and he's under threat of death by torture if he moves the bed at all) and we're watching a movie. Donnie and my dog, Shelby, are running around playing nicely. I'm laying on my side and every once in a while Don will bring me things that he knows are bad. He found a penny and brought it to me, then he found an earring and brought that to me. My back was to the edge of the bed so he would just hand it to my from over my shoulder.

If you know me at all you know that I am a germaphobic. Shopping carts are instruments of death. If a toilet brush some how accidentally touches any part of your body, that member is an automatic candidate for immediate amputation. Dirty dish water is to be let out with a ginormous pair of tongs that you immediately drop into boiling water after they've done their civil duty of removing the plug from the kitchen sink.

From the above three paragraphs I'm sure you're wondering what in thunder they have to do with each other....

I was laying on my side, shaking all over from my violent barfing spells. I'm watching a movie and praying that Don and Shelby will suddenly get tired and go to sleep. I feel Don crawling up next to me again. He is making his special grunting noise that means he's found something he's not supposed to have. I hold my hand out for it, never taking my eyes off of the screen. It was warm. And mushy. I bring my hand to my face and there in between my fingers is Shelby's dookie ball!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I start screaming my head off. Seth has no idea what is going on. He jumps off the bed looking for blood. Some one has to be dead. I'm holding my hand up toward him screaming TAKE IT TAKE IT TAKE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! So, he takes it. I have no idea what he did with it. I get up on my wobbly legs, holding my hand far above my face (and nose) and run to the bathroom. Take a quick moment to once again lose my stomach, and then proceed to wash my hand in boiling water, bleach, comet, acid, laundry soap, lye, dial soap, dove soap, and bath and body works soap. Then I wrapped my hand in plastic. I will never take it out. It's doomed to live the rest of it's sordid life hidden from the world. I'm selling the dog...

PS. Ever try to type with your hand in plastic? I might look into fingered plastic gloves. I'll wear just one. You can call me Michelle Jackson..haha