Admit it, you like to put nice pictures of yourself, your family, your goings on on your blog. I do too. But sometimes, when the going gets tough, all your (and my) perfection is a little overwhelming.
If my future children were to read this blog as it is now they would know it wasn't the WHOLE story of their mom. They would know that sometimes I didn't get out of my pajamas until 3 in the afternoon. That the cat stunk. That sometimes mom forgot about the load in the washer and let it sit there for a week.
So I'm going to start telling the whole story. Well, I'm going to try to, anyway. And this will be my first attempt. Maybe it will make you feel better about yourself. Maybe it will make you feel worse about me. Either way, I'm only being honest.
On any given day, there is a nice fine layer of dog hair on my floors. I try to sweep and vacuum every 24 hours. But sometimes I just don't want to. Sometimes I'm too tired, too hungry, too lazy. And that's okay. It's only that, when I do take a day off from the floors, hair karma comes back for its revenge. Really. You could name the globs of hair that come off this floor of mine.
And to show you just what caliber of hairball I'm dealing with here, I took a picture. This one I named Hannibal. Hannibal the two day old hairball.
Every day I wonder how the dog has any fur left. I think it's a miracle.
You non petty people out there are probably wondering why I allow the loathsome creature in my house at all.
Well, it's because she looks like this.
Wanna come for a visit?