Mr. Big

In honor of my mother in law coming this weekend ...

Who, as a disclaimer, I must say is a good sport, as I have mentioned her in passing on here before and she just shrugs it off as "one of those blog things." It's cool. She's cool. But, as I was saying, in honor of my mother in law coming up this weekend ...

No, there is no "nesting" impulse going on anywhere in my vicinity. See this area? No nesting going on. It's quite un-nested, as a matter of fact. Except maybe if you count the dog. I am sorry.

The dog, who has become "our wittle puppy." It's quite disgusting, so I've heard from passersby: "You don't call yourselves 'Mom' and 'Dad' to the dog, do you?" a friend asked.

Cue crickets, tumbleweed, wind blowing. "No. Of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

Sigh.

I used to make good-natured fun of the people who'd pass me on the way to the grocery store with poodles on their laps, staring out the window. Now, I have a dog on my lap in the car sometimes.

Dave used to swear he'd never have "one of those sissy dogs." Yeah, I try to tell him that now that he has a seven-pound dog sitting on his lap while they're watching football.

And the readers of my blog just shook their head in disbelief and disgust.