Tomorrow, our neighborhood is having a yard sale. Normally, we do not join in any sort of neighborly hijinks, but instead silently laugh at those who do and then judge them from behind our storm door
However, there is way too much stuff taking up space in this house, so tomorrow, I will be begging people to give me money for things I was going to throw out anyway.
I love America.
We spent the last several hours sorting through a ton of books, never-used fondue pots, phones from my husband’s old office, waiting room chairs, old golf clubs, ancient video game systems, and one very odd plant stand in the shape of an angry frog.
In the midst of all the commotion, which consisted of my husband asking me questions like “Why on god’s green earth do you own a book called The Sexual Life of Savages?”* and me asking him “Why do you have five different men’s guides to clothing?”**, C-bear decided to to exact her wrath, wrath that stemmed from the disruption of her normal evening schedule of sleeping and then putting her wet beard on my pants leg until I scratch her tummy, and then hitting me forcefully with her paw when I deign to stop. After sniffing disdainfully through everything stacked around the living room in all her favorite sleeping spots, C pulled a book out of a box and tried to eat it. And by eat it, I mean punish it for exisiting.
It should be noted that she never, ever chews up things that are not rawhide or Gus, but for some reason, this particular book really made her angry.
I think she wanted to remind us that she wrote the book on changing attitude into action. Take that, Keith Harrell, author. You stole your thesis from my dog.
And Gus? Gus is just glad he’s not the one being eaten for a change
He’s also really pissed that he’s stuck wearing this cone until his paw gets better. But mostly, he’s hapless and adorable. 
*The answer is that back when I was a dilettante English major who didn’t realize that her dad would eventually take his credit card back and stop paying for things, I took a class on Modernist Sexuality in Literature, and we had to read some weird shit for that class. I learned nothing useful from that class except that every single thing you will ever read has homosexual undertones. Also, that English major is code for I qualify for no actual job, but I can write a six page paper on why Tess of the d’Urbervilles was a lesbian. And by reading this post-script, you are now gay.
**His answer? “Well, I’m really awesome at dressing myself now, so maybe I needed them, Ok?” Touche.
