It's Just the Dog in Me

I never realized when I was growing up, that my parents were quite bizarre. Since I work in financials at the School of Medicine, I feel I can accurately diagnose them both as having Obessive Complusive Disorder. Our toilet seat was cleaner than the table top at most Mexican restaurants, and my Dad could fit the entire remaining contents of our Sunday afternoon KFC Meal Deal into an empty 2-liter Tab bottle and have room to spare. This is not normal. Of course, neither are my current living conditions.
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We decided to adopt a 4-month old puppy to befriend our aging Jack Russell. In theory, this sounded like a great idea. You know people like this. Loading up the pups in their Subaru Outback on Saturday mornings and taking them to the dog park while sipping on coffee and chatting it up with other dog lovers. Total bullshit. My dogs are having a pissing contest on the carpet in my downstairs living quarters. Towels are laying everywhere on top of Shot Spot soaked with urine. From an aerial view, my living room closely resembles Woodstock.
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Needless to say, I won't be inviting my parents over anytime soon. I can't confirm, but I'm fairly certain that my Mom already uses disposable toilet seat covers when visiting me. One look at my crib today, and she would have post-traumatic stress disorder for the remainder of her years. I haven't even mentioned the hair, nor the fact that I am so allergic to this dog that I have to take 2 Benadryl every four hours just to breathe. In addition, if Locks of Love would accept 2-inch dog hair, I could donate enough to have every chemotherapy patient on the East Coast fully covered.
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For me, this means more alcohol consumption and two cases of Swiffer refills from Costco per week.
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Bow wow wow yippee oh yippee aaa.
~j