Badass

Last night I got down all my old Mermaid Parade stuff and put it together with my new Mermaid Parade stuff. The good news is that the base of the skirt still fits. (HOSANNA! Can I get an Amen? Really wasn't sure that would happen.) Then, of course, I had to begin the process of removing the previous tulle embellishments so I can start creating some new ones. Not sure if I told you but last year my skirt was both professionally sewn and MacGuyverishly stapled. So I used nail scissors (in the absence of a seam ripper) until I got to some staples and then I used my fingernails. It's slow going but I'm getting there. Eventually I had to stop for dinner.

That is apparently when this happened. And that was his resting place of choice all night long. I never have a serious urge to get a puppy. I always feel as though the puppy raising process would beat me down. I wouldn't enjoy the cute little beebee because I'd be exhausted and frustrated and smelling like pee. There comes a time with every dog, though, when I suddenly and painfully wish I'd at least known them as a puppy. I want a photo of Emily with the fuzzy hair and no control over her ears. I want a commemorative portrait of Ed when he could fit in the palm of my hand. I want video of Bobby trying to go down steps when he was so young his ears could flop over his eyes.

Then I remember that Bobby is here now because some asshole never took him out of a crate until he tied him up outside a local vet's office. He was malnourished and developmentally delayed and a hot fucking mess. That makes me feel better. That he's here, not that he was a mess.

Wouldn't tiny puppy Eddie resting on a tuffet of tulle have been awesome, though?