So this weekend, my dog barfed on me. Let me repeat that: ROXY. BARFED. ON. ME. I was lying in bed, and she came over, sat down beside my head, opened her mouth to yawn and spewed regurgitated dog food. ALL. OVER. MY. CHEST.
I wasn’t wearing a nightshirt.
Let’s just say that I scrubbed off about 8 layers of skin in the shower. The sheets are in the garbage. I know, I know…I could have cleaned them. But, really? REALLY?
No.
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