Eden has been accusing me of wasting our precious work time to make out with her dog Cookie. Let me just say right now: I am not in love with this dog. I mean, she’s fine and all, whatever. Except when she’s on the attack. Yes. Those pictures of me pinned beneath Cookie’s massive bulk? I was lucky to get out alive.
I realize that she is a dog, and thus wants to consume her human overlords, so I don’t hold it against her. Nonetheless: while it is true that she has the softest noggin I have ever snorfled, the emotion I feel toward her, mostly, is wariness. I did not just use the word “snorfle.” Snorfle is not even a word; how could I have used it? I don’t even know what it means.
I may have just chuckled while listening to her snoring on the sectional, but I am not resisting the urge to hurtle across the room and snuggle with her and smooch her adorable mushy face. Ew. Finally, I did not exult in her lovability to my husband on the phone, who, because his mother’s name is Cookie, did not respond, “This is too weird for me.”
Thank you for giving me this opportunity.