Funny in a Not-ish Kinda Way

Last night when I got home from work, I was greeted at the door by both my dogs. Without fail, whenever this happens, my reaction is always the same:

"WHY ARE YOU IN HERE? WHY ARE YOU IN HERE? WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?"

I'd show you a picture of how my kitchen looked, but it would pretty much be a carbon copy of the picture I showed you at the end of this post less than a week ago, and for some reason I find I have some kind of moral objection to posting two pictures of my own garbage in one week.

If you're thinking I'm an idiot, hold your horses, because while you may indeed be correct, it's not for the reason you think. I did not leave the dogs inside again, but that didn't really matter because it would appear that when Bravo wants inside, he is like a freight train and no amount of locked doggy doors are going to derail him.

What I should have taken a picture of was the rectangular hole in the bottom half of our back door, because in hindsight it's kind of amusing, but I was too busy sobbing and getting glass shards imbedded into my fingertips to appreciate the humor in the moment. (Sidenote: The rapidity with which something so tiny can draw so much blood never ceases to amaze me.)

The person you should pity most in this situation is actually Gary, because although he wasn't there to help me pick up the enormous pile of potato peelings (which was way more disgusting than you might imagine after having spent several days fermenting at the bottom of the trash can) with my bare hands, he was tasked with the rather less enjoyable burden of picking up the pieces of my shattered psyche.

I've been pretty much continuously stressed out for the past month or so, so it really doesn't take much to send me into an ugly-faced crying pit of despair. I gotta hand it to Gary though; he's got his crazy-wife response plan down pat. Within an hour of my whimpering, hiccup-ridden phone call to tell him what happened, he arrived home with flowers and pizza with bacon on it. (The bacon was just on the pizza...not the flowers...although, now that you mention it, HOW GOOD would those smell? Eh? Eh? Eh?)