I think the picture is fair representation of what I looked like afterward. I didn't eat dinner, I didn't do my laundry, I didn't wash the bed, didn't cut up fruit, and I didn't take the 'patio stones' out of the back seat of the car and cover up Jazzy dog's grave.
If you puke easy, stop reading.
(I had faith that wouldn't stop you.)
I was wondering why God let me live this long when RJ pads silently into the hallway begins munching on a piece of poop, probably his, in the hall way right in front of me. Stupid me I've had so many Shitz Tzus that instead of throwing up or freaking out I actually had the thought: "So that's why the piles I find are crumbly like that"...
Crazy dog lady problems indeed.
I went to go clean it up and he just sits there and looks up at me with these adoring eyes...
I almost wish he was a little drunkard dog, then he'd have an excuse. But no, he doesn't. He just looks at me while I clean up the poop he just ATE out of the carpet with those huge eyes of his.
I LOVE YOU!
And it hit me: this is what God deals with every day on a much larger scale.
I don't know how he deals with me either. Seriously. I'm a mess. I don't eat poop, but hey, I'm pretty freaking weird in my own way.