Tweet I promised Big V I wouldn't make disparaging remarks about the Devil Dog anymore. He was all like, "people think my dog is aggressive and destructive now" and I was all like "but your dog is aggressive and destructive" and he was all "yeah, but they didn't know that until you told them." Of course he was right. (But I still think eventually everyone would've found out anyway when there was a giant hole in the exterior wall of our home and we'd have to explain how the Devil Dog chewed out his escape route.) I asked if it were acceptable to speak in hypothetical's instead and he just rolled his eyes and sighed really loud and I'm pretty sure that meant he's okay with it.
So, hypothetically speaking, let's say someone came home and announced they found a home for their crazed aggressive, destructive devil dog. And that same person packed up dog toys and bones and food and the kennel.... and even put the dog itself in the truck.... one would assume the dog would be gone, right? Sure they would!
If it were me in that situation I'd do what any other loving partner would do: prepare for thank-you sex. First I would clean up the house, because, let's be honest, you can't have proper thank-you sex when you're thinking about the dishes that need to be done and wondering if anyone left a bottle of milk under the couch and if you have enough toilet paper to get you through the rest of the week.
And then I would shave my legs. With a new razor. Because a man who gives up his dog deserves smooth legs. Even if that dog was going to devour the baby the first chance it got.
And then I would go through the deep dark recesses of my closet wondering if I had anything remotely sexy at my disposal - hoping that it would be enough to cover the new weight distributed throughout my thighs and abdomen. And then I would remember that guys could care less about the size of your thighs if you just do most of the work so I could just about sport a chicken suit and he'd think I was a goddess, as long as I was moving.
And, then, what if, hypothetically speaking, he came back with the dog, mumbling something about having to pry open the dog's jaw and fax copies of proof of up-to-date rabies vaccinations?
Yeah, you'd be changing into oversized sweats and pulling wool socks up to your knees, too.