Cheers to the freakin’ weekend
(The highlight of the weekend: a crisp (potato chip, Americans) with a heart. The only thing better would’ve been a crisp with a shoe. Or if I’d backed the hell away from it a bit, so this photo wasn’t such an extreme close-up. We live and we never really learn.)
I’ve noticed that a lot of other bloggers do weekend recaps, which are always full of charming photos of them being super-cute in lovely, interesting places. My weekends aren’t normally like that. Here’s what this weekend looked has looked like so far:
Rubin ate chocolate.
I know you’re all about to tell me that OMG, dogs should NEVER eat chocolate, because it can be TOXIC to them and they can DIE and we are BAD owners, but trust me, I know. Ever since we got Rubin, I’ve exercised extreme paranoia about chocolate, and all the other things dogs aren’t supposed to eat – we’re always careful not to let him near it, and if anyone’s going to be looking after him, I back out of their house shouting, “Remember not to let him eat chocolate! Or grapes! Or small bones! Or chocolate!” But I’m clumsy. You all know this. And because I also know this, I have always been aware that the day would surely come when I would drop chocolate on the floor, and before I could react, Rubin would pounce and swallow it whole.
What I didn’t really expect was that Terry would be the one who would end up doing this. But he did, and, of course, Rubin reacted with his usual lightning speed, and almost before the chocolate hit the ground, it was gone, and he was looking at us all, “YEAH, SO?”
Much Googling ensued. Also much panicking, and shouting of the phrase “OMG, he’s going to die! He’s going to die!” (from me, naturally) while Rubin just sat there looking like chocolate wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
(He also tried to eat pizza.)
After a bit of frenzied research, we managed to establish that what he’d eaten probably wasn’t enough to cause him any harm. Nevertheless, our “relaxing” Friday night, which we’d planned to spend watching a movie, was instead spent with Terry watching a movie, while I watched Rubin, providing a helpful running commentary on his actions (“He’s standing up, he must be ill! Oh! He’s sitting down again! Why do you think he’s sitting down? Should we call the vet?”) and played a fun little game I call “Sleeping…or Dead?” And by “fun”, I mean “not even remotely fun, seriously.”
After a few hours of this, and absolutely no sign of any ill-effects on Rubin, I took the panic down a notch and allowed myself to cautiously acknowledge the possibility that he might live.
Then I went to the kitchen to get a handful of chocolate-covered cereal and, yeah, I dropped one on the floor. And yeah, Rubin ate it. He got to sleep in our bed that night.
And, naturally, he was absolutely fine.
(Terry took this photo the next morning, while I was still asleep. When he woke me up to let me know he was heading out to see his friends, I tried to say something like “See you later – take care/have fun!” but what came out was, “You! Take fun!” COFFEE.)
You know that thing I do? With the dyeing my hair bright orange? And then with the doing it again? Yeah, that. Only this time , rather than the wash-in, wash-out colours I usually use to turn my hair orange, this one was a semi-permanent, so hello, orange hair! (Yes, I did a strand test first, No, it didn’t look quite so bright.) I’m strangely calm about it. And yes, I know I could get the salon to strip it out, or buy something to do it myself, but actually, I think I’m just going to leave it, and let that be a lesson to me. Thankfully, the REALLY bright orange is concentrated on the (formerly) strawberry blonde bits around my temples, so as long as I comb my fringe in a certain way, it’s not THAT obvious. Like, my hair just looks slightly unnatural, as opposed to glow-in-the-dark unnatural. Meh, fluorescent is, like, SO HOT right now, anyway. And I KNEW that fringe would come in handy one day!
(I’ve heard that Head & Shoulders or clarifying shampoos can make colour fade faster, yes? And… there’s always hats?)
(I did try to take a photo of it, by the way, but it didn’t really reveal the full extent of the orange, which gives me further hope that it’s Just Not That Bad.)
Also on Saturday, Rubin was apprehended in my parents’ garden in the act of eating God Knows What, But He Seemed to Find it Tasty. Another vigil ensued. He is still alive.
(The red sky, it was at night. The shepherds, they were delighted.)
Sunday was a gorgeous Spring day, so naturally we chose to spend it engaged in various mundane household chores. Don’t you just HATE it when you wait all year for Spring, and then when it finally shows up, you have to spend it digging in the garden and scrubbing down your house? Luckily for me, Terry was up super-early to watch Formula One (like, 5am early. I didn’t even know there WAS a 5 o’clock in the a.m.) and afterwards he got through the various tedious gardening chores I had outlined the night before during one of my awful, “OMG, we will have to start doing battle with the garden again, why won’t that thing just DIE already?” rants.
Then we painted the porch. You’re starting to understand why I don’t do weekend roundups now, aren’t you? We’re on a bit of a mission at the moment – or, at least, I am - to make the house a bit less gloomy and awful, and we decided to start small. Literally, I mean: the porch is so small we can’t both stand in it at the same time, and because I can’t really be trusted with a paintbrush (Look, would YOU trust a woman who’s dyed her hair orange three times now? Didn’t think so.), Terry did that too, while I gave the house a bit of a Spring-clean. He earned MAJOR Brownie points this weekend, seriously.
(I worked hard too.)
(We painted it mint green. Because of course we did. It will match all of my clothes! And if crazed killers are ever chasing me through the house, why, I will just stand next to that wall in my mint-coloured clothes and be instantly camouflaged. Oh no, wait: I keep forgetting I have fluorescent orange hair now. That’ll blow my cover. OK, well, I’ll stand next to the wall, and they will see me, but I will look like a freaky, disembodied head, and they will be scared and run away, crying like girls. I’m glad I have a plan for that particular scenario now: that’s been bothering me for years.)
(God, I wish I hadn’t introduced the idea of disembodied heads. Because now I’m thinking about being beheaded, and you all know how I feel about THAT.)
(At the moment, the mint green paint is ALSO a lot brighter than we’d anticipated. WHY DOES NOTHING LOOK THE WAY IT DOES ON THE BOX?)
This Sunday was also Mother’s Day in the UK. We visited my mum on Saturday instead, and although it was HER special day, I was the one who got the gift, in the shape of this little polka dot dress she has made for me. From scratch, people. With her own hands. Isn’t she clever? Do you think I might be adopted?
Oh, and I also changed my banner. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to have a good time. Even although that’s totally true.