Happy Whelpday!

So J tells me he’s too busy to take me to the T-Bell to eat/roll in yesterday’s mud, but then he somehow has enough time (and the gall) to tie a blue rubber ghost to my neck and watch as it chases me around the house? Total bullshit. I don’t care if he thinks “these three particular photos are 10X better than all the photos taken during Beth’s birthday party photo scavenger hunt, combined,” and I also don’t care that he “feels terrible he missed it.”

All I care about is escaping from this ghost. And eating mud. And then, if given the opportunity, rolling in the remaining mud that I did not eat.