I opened the door for the carpet guy and Ollie shot past me out into the yard, an area with a car width wide gate that was wide open. I knew exactly where he was headed - freedom and the open road full of cars that would run right over him - so I dashed to the fridge for some bait in the form of lunch meat. By the time I raced back out the front door, Ollie was nowhere in sight. I told the carpet dude he was late and to just get started already since I had to catch the escaped dog.
I spent the next five minutes walking down our street towards the big road at the end, shaking the lunch meat bag and calling Ollie's name. He's such a little stinker with no common sense and beneath the panic of him getting hit by a car, I was filled with anger. There I was in meeting-my-friend-for-lunch mode, looking presentable, while our precious little pain in the ass pet had me worried sick. As I jogged up and down the road in my cute little sandals with sweat sliding down my face and trickling between my shoulder blades in the noon sun with temps set to break records that day, I wanted to strangle our beloved dog.
Giving up on that direction, I turned back towards the cul-de-sac end of our street and spied the little devil sniffing around on the neighbor's porch. Dashing over there, I know I looked as if I had just escaped from the nearest insane asylum, calling Ollie's name in a sing song voice while promising bits of tasty treats as my makeup ran off my face in rivers of perspiration.
After a whole lotta coaxing, I finally pounced on the little SOB and grabbed him by the collar. I can only hope the neighbors weren't at home and missed being witness to me spanking and calling Ollie every bad name in the great cursing book. After I got our resident pea brain back into the house, I caught up with the carpet measuring guy. He was taking his sweet old time while I tapped my foot in aggravation since he was a half hour late and I was supposed to be meeting my friend for lunch right about then.
My mobile phone rang and I dashed downstairs to answer it. Once finished, the carpet guy yelled downstairs to ask me if he could use the toilet. I said sure and then flopped onto the couch, beneath the family room fan, to cool off before heading to lunch. I heard one of the toilets upstairs flush a few times, but thought nothing of it. About that time, though, the poo smell wafted downstairs. It was painfully obvious, in the stinkiest sort of way, that the carpet measuring twit had taken a big ol' dump in our toilet that was perfuming all 3400 sf with eau de outhouse.
It figures - about that time my friend arrived at
Thus far this Friday has been an immense improvement over last Friday - shopping with the coed for some pj's to take to college, lunch at Pappadeaux's with the husband, girls and my mother, mailing off graduation gift thank you cards the coed wrote and having a variety of things delivered. The new bar stools for the counter height island look great, as does the 7th grader's new bedding. Plus the air shipment from England was finally brought out to the house after languishing at the moving company's storage facility for the last week. This is just a taste of what we'll be faced with when the sea container and storage pod arrive later this month. Even though we're busy seeing doctors, dentists and orthodontists while getting the house into better shape, I realize it's the calm before the packing paper storm arrives.