The dogs tore apart the trash can. They got into all the trash and dragged it into the front hall. They smeared old yogurt on the front door. They drug an empty bag of chips, ripped it apart and greased up the hallway like some weird doggy slip and slide. Rotten apple cores were obviously inspected, licked and then tossed aside like trash. Because that is what they were, trash, thus they belonged in the trash can.
Then they peed all over it.
There is no story this time. This is all I got. They tore up the trash, spread it everywhere and then peed all over, like 4 different times. If I wasn't so mad right now, I would come to the logical conclusion that my dogs went on a cocaine bender while I was gone. There is probably a dead dog hooker in the back.
Hossmom says we need to talk about our feelings. We need to open up and express what is inside of us. She says this during long conversations where I mainly listen and nod my head while she expresses her desire to hear me express my feelings. She says that if we bottle things up it will cause strokes and a mid-life crisis where I will want to buy a Corvette and get a 21 year old to "babysit" me while the kids are out playing. She then shoots me a disgusted look that says "how could you?! She's just 21! What kind of pervert are you!" Mind you, I haven't done anything but she likes to work herself up sometimes and then tell me about it.
So we are going to give her method a shot before that bad scenario happens. How do I feel right now?
Well, honestly, I feel like my fucking dogs just took the fucking trash and then fucking peed all over it. That pretty much sums up how I feel at the moment. And I feel that I am the only one to clean it up because it's the middle of the day and Hossmom is working late tonight so I can't really leave it on the floor for the next 5 hours. However, the thought has occurred to me to do just that thing. I mean honestly, how bad would that be? We could just ignore it, perhaps quarantine that part of the house. We'll make a game out of it. That's where the monsters are, they are stinky and smell like trash and pee. Don't go in there.
But eventually the smell and my conscious would get to me. And then I would have to answer questions to Hossmom about how I could leave such a mess the entire day. Then she probably wouldn't clean it up either just to teach me a lesson. So I'm going to have to clean it up which also gives me feelings. Like I feel that I don't want to clean this up.
My dogs have been known to eat some very disgusting things. It is possible that if I put a little cheese on the trash and pee that the dogs will probably eat it. This idea has merit for a moment. If they eat it then I won't have to clean it up, which makes me feel good. However, they would probably puke it up later, most likely in my bed while I sleep, and this would make me feel Hulk-like rage.
In the end I feel that I'm going to have to clean this up. I'm going to bite the bullet and get my work gloves on and dive in the disgusting mess that is in the other room. I'll feel like I'll die a bit inside, perhaps a part of my soul will shrivel up and go hide in the corner while I do what I don't feel like doing.
OR I could hire a 21 year old babysitter and just hope that she cleans this mess up while I go Corvette shopping.