Homecoming Fail

Last night brought the Hubcation to an inglorious end.

Why inglorious you ask?

Because it’s me, and weird shit just happens to me.

Our friend who went with Hubs to the retreat called to say that they were almost in town and they would meet us (his wife and me) at a Mexican restaurant we like.  So we met up and hugged and admired the dirt on the Jeep and clucked over the goink in hubs’ back from the cot from hell that he slept on for ten days. We had a great dinner and even greater conversation, and I tried carne asada for the first time which I have to say I’m kind of meh about. But it was nice, a nice homecoming dinner and a great way to set the tone for a nice homecoming evening. Or so I thought.

We headed home to unpack the dirty, dirty Jeep and say hi to the Sasha dog who has missed her Poppa so greatly she almost wagged herself inside out.  And it was all downhill from there.

My dog, who is not a puker, got so excited she puked all over the carpet.  The white carpet. The same white carpet on which she happily deposited a dead and desiccated frog just two days previously.

She then became my husband’s dog.

Hubs had been driving for eight hours, and his back was pretty sore from the cot from hell, and we hadn’t seen each other for ten days so we decided it would be a good idea to turn in early.  Because that’s what you do for homecomings, right?

Or not.

My husband’s dog had other ideas.

While he was having his shower and I was laying in bed reading, a wild hair flew right up her ass and danced around.  She ran around like a mad chicken for a while, she tried to get me to play with her, and then she jumped up on the bed, turned her ass toward me, squatted and peed right in the middle of the bed.

That’s when my husband’s dog learned how to fly.

Of course I was the only one laying on the bed at the time, thus creating a somewhat sizeable *ahem* dip in the mattress, and we all know that a liquid will find the lowest point on a surface in which to pool.  Which, since I had my back to her at the time, was how I discovered her display of female irkitude.  Shit isn’t the only thing that rolls downhill.  All over my back.

I did not know that I could hobble around a room so fast, and that my multi-tasking skills had been honed to the level required to simultaneously strip off my clothes and fling them across the room, yell WHAT THE FUCK!!! at the top of my lungs, strip the sheets and the blankets and the oh so cushy and now covered in dog pee memory foam mattress topper of former goodness off the bed and throw those across the room, glare at the dog who is by now sporting her own WHAT THE FUCK look on her face as she hides behind the crate in which she will forevermore be sleeping, and waggle my eyebrows at hubs who heard the WHAT THE FUCK!!! and came running out of the shower buck nekkid, dripping wet and covered in soapsuds to find out who he had to kill.   At least he wasn’t dripping dog pee.

Since I was running around the room like a dervish with sheets flying in the air, and also buck ass nekkid but not in a good way because there is nothing good about buck ass nekkid and covered in dog pee, I can understand why hubs looked a little confused as all I could do was point at the dog and yell YOUR GODDAMN DOG PEED ON THE BED!!!

Last night’s theme song?  She’s Lost that Lovin’ Feeling.

It’s a wee bit of a challenge to maintain the shiny happy smoochie feeling amid sheet changes, massive cleaning, laundry, showers, and a buttload of righteous indignation.

I told you, weird shit just happens to me.