I have cleaned my bathroom, and the dog is ded of shock.
She is laying there, as if to say, “I will only regain life if you clean off the kitchen table and sweep the kitchen floor.
I said I’d think about it.
She licked my toes and told me that was the most she could expect.
And then we both bitched about the heat and decided the housework could continue another day. But the bathroom looks better– I’d show you pictures, but even “clean” it’s still a third-world death trap.
I’d rather show you the ded dawg.
