He wasn't a saint

I've been doing laundry today.  I'm back on half-time and I am not working in the office this week.  I wanted to get back to the garage, unpacking boxes, watching TLC, eating crackers and cheese for lunch…you know, vacation for a school person.

I've been doing lots of laundry….lots of towels.    AND laughing.

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Memories

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Our family has fun.  We laugh.  We play jokes.  We dress up pets.  We punked each other before punking was cool.  Nothing mean.  Nothing nasty.  Good clean fun.

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Late 1990's

I had finished taking a bath.  It had been a long day.  I had soaked my weary bones.  Washed my hair.  Used bubble bath.  And look--there were fluffy fresh towels that had been put out just waiting for me.  Oh, those towels looked nice.  I wrapped one around my wet hair and started drying off with the other one.

Then….. I smelled it.

Wet dog.  I was drying off with the towels that had been used to dry Doc, our sweet Brittany Spaniel….who had been bathed in the same tub where I was bathing….and I was using dog towels.  AND I SMELLED LIKE A WET DOG!

I smelled of "Ode de Wet Dog."  I yelled, "Mike Weaver!"  He was laughing like a wild man-- yep, he'd hung those towels ever so carefully so that I'd smell like dog.  A wet dog.  And old wet dog.   It was a grand prank.

Mike was still laughing after my second shower and second set of CLEAN towels.  And he started watching over his shoulder for what I was going to do in return….he knew it would be coming.  He just didn't know when.


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Three months later, Sally, the calico cat, gave birth to seven kittens in Mike's bed.  Under the covers.

Touche.

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p.s.  I always smell the towels before drying off.  Always.