310. Here’s the bad part of being a woman alone. You’re never alone.

Remember the french dog that I had to mind a few weeks ago because the mother had to go to her father’s funeral?

Well she’s back. Still humping and still pissing and still pushing me around.

Why is this? Because I clearly have the word “sucker” written on my forehead. I think people think because I live alone now that any company is a welcome gift.

I was taking a bath yesterday minding my own business when my phone rang. It turned out it was the french husband.

“Are you home?”  At least I think that’s what he said. He speaks like Pepe Le Pew eating a meatball hero.

“Eet seems we are going skiing zees weekend and I just found out zat zee otel weel not allow zee dog. Can Chicago stay weeth you?”

I immediately got a sinking feeling because me being nuts meant that I would be this dog’s slave all weekend plus Frenchie said they were leaving in an hour so what choice did I have?   I knew I would have to say yes..

Only after they dropped off the dog and her food and left did I wonder about their predicament.

Clearly last time they asked me it was an emergency, not just a dead grandfather but a dead grandfather that offed himself, but this time?

They JUST found out “zee otel” didn’t take dogs? As they were leaving they decided to give  a quick phonecall to check on the dog situation? I don’t think so.

There’s a side issue here too. One I’m not that proud of.

The French guy works for Coach. Last time I was almost positive that my selfless neighborliness would surely result in a new bag.

What I got was a cup of gummy brownies that their kid baked and left at my door. And to make matters worse, she gave the same thing to David whose only contribution to that dog’s existence is that he thinks it’s funny to make a loud beep sound that makes Chicago, or Noodles as I call her,  jump straight up in the air.

How he rated brownies, I’ll never know.

So here I am. I want to go out and mail a letter but Noodles won’t come out from under the bed because when I tried to put her halter on, I put it on backwards.

I took it off and tried to put it on correctly but she ran away.

I keep saying things like “Someone is going to have to stay alone if she doesn’t come out from under the bed” in a singsong voice to no avail.


I even gave her a few “Bon soirs”.  That means good bye right?

It looks like I’m going to have to just go without her.

I’ll hurry though because last time I left her alone she took a dump on my dining room table.


8 thoughts on “310. Here’s the bad part of being a woman alone. You’re never alone.

  1. You are a good friend for doing this. When Chicago’s parents come and pick her up, you could sneeze a lot and scratch your arms & legs telling them that you are developing an allergy to the dog and *sadly*, this is the last time you will be able to sit her.
    Do not do the above if a Coach Bag is being offered 🙂

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