G headed to Wilmington, North Carolina this morning with her team to try to play softball.
Today is also her birthday. (She is 47 today. Happy Birthday, honey!)
She almost always spends her birthday on the road with her team. She’ll be home by St. Patrick’s Day though, and then we’ll celebrate her birthday in fine fashion.
In the meantime, Boomer and I are home alone, holding down the fort.
Boomer is moping on the couch beside me at the moment. She knows that something is off, and she blames me. She saw the luggage on the bed all week, and now it is gone, and so is G, and the TV is not on like it is supposed to be, and I am reading a book instead of watching Property Brothers, and everything is fucked.
We go through this every year. She’ll be pissed at me for not being G until tomorrow night. Tonight she will barf a large pile of something yellow and lumpy on the dining room floor, I will clean it up in the morning, then we’ll be even. She will have punished me for not being G, and we can then return to being amigos again.
She will resign herself to my ways, which are not so much different from G’s, but different enough that she gets peeved. She will particularly hate me in the mornings because I am not terribly responsive at 6:30 AM when she expects to be fed, but to appease her, I will drag my sorry ass out of bed, down the stairs to the Kibble Keeper, drop a scoop in her bowl, and then return to my cozy bed to contemplate the day ahead with my eyes closed for another hour.
G just called with an update. The bus picked up a nail in one of its tires and so the team is hanging out in some truck stop 2 hours from their final destination.
Yep. Everything is going well. As usual.