Oh, yes, I'm grinning.
How could I not as I watch my Agent step in a pile of Bulimic Brach's hork this morning...with her bare feet?
Brach's delicate and nervous stomach, coupled with his tendency to inhale his food, occasionally causes him to hurl "moist" kibble on the floor. He is in denial of his eating disorder, claiming he has to scarf the food as a matter of "survival." He whines that if he doesn't eat quickly, he risks starving to death because I'll eat it all.
Whatever, Brach. Boo-hoo to someone who gives two shits....like that "Darwin" friend of yours!
Normally, the full production, including his horrid gagging noises and arching of his back as he yacks it up, is the entertainment. This morning, it was the process of discovery that made me laugh so hard I nearly pissed my Randolph Duke original gown. Don't laugh at me! Every Friday, at 5:00 am, is "Oscar Dress-Up" time!
Back to my Agent's woes.
Leaping out of bed, she began grabbing her clothes for the day. In a maniacal, "I'm-already-running-late...shit" fit of hysteria, she ran into the dark kitchen to fetch a pair of grundies from the basket of clean clothes she had not yet folded...from two days ago.
Brach's spew spread itself across the sole of her foot like peanut butter on bread. "SHIT!" she exclaimed as the bile butter forced itself between her toes.
I had to cover my face with my paws to keep from snorting out loud.
What is the lesson to be learned here? Only feed Brach tiny bits of food at a single time? Turn the lights on in the morning and watch where you step? Fold the damn clothes as soon as they come from the dryer; you probably won't step in upchuck when you're standing at your dresser?
And here I thought "Oscar Dress-Up" Friday mornings couldn't get any better...