Despite it all

Auntie Lori asked if we had cut Lyla's hair.



Uh, nope.

We have bees. Had bees. The Orkin man came out today and caused a bee-pocalypse in the nest below our porch. On Saturday the dogs got attacked, swarmed and pelted by those things, to the point where Tulip wouldn't even run away, just cowered there and howled, so I had to enter the fray and grab her. I couldn't detect any welts on the poor dog, but that was about the point she stopped eating for two days, opting instead to spend most of her time hiding under the couch.

The vet got her to eat, though. Nice how that works out: I'm playing my 6th game of iPhone cribbage in the waiting room, when out comes the "doctor" (yes, I know vets are actual doctors, but this girl was like 25 and introduced herself as "Dr. So-and-So," all fresh from graduation and self-important as hell, before taking my dog to the back room to stick her finger up its butt, I mean seriously) and...where was I at the start of that sentence? Oh yeah, so Tulip ate a liver treat from the doctor, so we're all good, just give her some of this canned prescription food, and that'll be $68, please.

Anything conclusive on the rectal, doc?

She was clean.

No shit.

I guess you could say that.

So before the vet but after the Orkin man, I picked Lyla up from daycare and brought her home to her mother, who has thrown out her back somehow and stayed home from work today in agony but is convinced that she'll be in tomorrow guaranteed, but just in case, could I go to her sister Jen's place, who picked up her laptop from work today, in case she actually does stay home tomorrow, so she doesn't have to use my school laptop again like she did today. Are you with me? Oh, and bring home a McDonald's McFlurry on your way home, snack size should do, Reese's, and feel free to get yourself one, too.

Dinner?

Order pizza.

So Orkin, Lyla, vet, pizza, Jen's, McDonald's, and now I'm home. But here's the thing: when you put Lyla to bed and you're holding her with the fan on and the music on and the lights off, she puts her head down on your shoulder. Every time. But sometimes, and tonight was one of those sometimes, she lifts her head from your shoulder, says "Other one," and lowers it onto your other shoulder. And those are the last words she says all day, and you think to yourself that despite it all, everything's cool.