take one woman with low self esteem, but quite good hair
add one moronic illness
stir in some medication which causes hair to fall out
mix it all up and this is what you get...

Wednesday, August 10, 2005


"Why is there a dog in our room?"

The first stage in answering such a question when it occurs in the middle of the night is to establish the following facts in order to properly engage the brain:

"Who am I?"
The Anxious One, 1 part blogger, 2 parts wage-slave, 3 parts hair, 700 parts incessant worrier

"Where am I?"
In bed

"Why am I?"
I don't think we've got time to deal with that issue right now...

"Who is that?"
That's your co-habitee (for want of a better term)

"What is going on?"
Your co-habitee has just asked you the following question:

"Why is there a dog in our room?"

*brain whirrs*

The fact that he's asking "why" there is a dog in the room rather suggests that there *is* a dog in the room. Added evidence comes from the fact that, a few weeks ago, he asked the question: "why is there a cat in the room?" at a similarly ungodly hour and, having heard the unmistakable sound of "landing cat" followed swifly by "mewing cat", it transpired that there was indeed a cat in the bedroom. This one, in fact.

However, cats being known for their agility in such activities as jumping on roofs and clambering through windows, this was less surprising a prospect than the presence of a dog in our bedroom. The last time I had checked my "pet ownership inventory", we didn't own a dog. I might add at this point, though, that this fact did little to deter the cat.

I looked around the room in the darkness, to which my eyes had now become accustomed. I couldn't see, hear or smell any evidence of a dog. It would be a very unusual dog indeed who didn't make his/her presence felt in at least one of these ways. With this in mind, I ventured, tentatively:

"Hon, there isn't a dog in the room..."

"Over on the left," said the co-habitee.

Now, at this point, the co-habitee was lying on his front, so his left was my right. I look to my right - no sign of canine activity. I decide to look to my left too, just to be sure. Equally, no dog to be seen. I guess if one were stretching one's imagination to the maximum, the hanging rail with clothes draped over it (putting things on hangers is *so* last year dahhling...) could, in combination with the right kind of tobacco, resemble the shadow of a large poodle. A large, silent, inanimate, unscented, two-dimensional poodle.

Examining the evidence placed before me, being:

I concluded that I would be best advised to go back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that there were no dogs in my room.

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