Because Rooney had been kicked out of puppy kindergarten three weeks in a row, our instructor thought it would be beneficial to bring out the big guns and in puppy kindergarten, the big guns means the head honcho dog trainer, commonly referred to as the Dog Whisperer of Philadelphia in certain circles and those circles are me.
And the big guns did her whole behavioral observation session and decided that Rooney displays signs of past abuse. Naturally, B and I were infuriated at the thought of anyone doing anything to harm a puppy because seriously what kind of sick feck could do something like that? Now, we've launched into full-fledged therapy mode and are completely dedicated to emotionally rescuing our puppy.
In order to provide a calm, stable home for our pup, B and I have decided that maybe it would help him if we
What exactly are you getting at, and can you please get to the fecking point, you say?
B POPPED THE QUESTION.
And now because the first question everyone else has asked is, you're gonna blog about this, right? I suppose I'll have to blog about it and by the way, what is wrong with you people?
B is a clever, clever man, and if there's one thing he can count on, it's me not wanting to get out of bed in the morning. So yesterday, he jumped up with the sun and made himself busy in the kitchen while I slept.
I woke up to pancakes in bed, music on the stereo, and a very eager B. And then there was a ring. And oh my gah the ring.
Please excuse the 75-year-old woman hands. I had no idea my hands looked like 75-year-old woman hands until I started taking close up pictures of them. I think it's time to start moisturizing. Also I'm not the type to walk around my apartment and take close up pictures of my hands in different light, but I know some of you people will be all well why didn't you take it in natural light? And why didn't you take one outside? And we want to see a different angle. So here. Be satisfied.And then the flutter began. Only it wasn't a flutter, it was more like a volcanic eruption during an earthquake wrapped up in a tornado of phone calls and text messages and congratulations and screams and blah blah blahs and you're blogging this, rights. And I spent the day practicing my most obnoxious excuse me, have you seen my fiance? My fiiiaaannnceee? Fiiiaaannnnnnnceeeeeeee in a French accent because everything is better in an accent and now that I have a fiannnceee I'm allowed to speak in one.
Needless to say, I'm tickled pink if pink is a rush of butterflies and excitement and happiness and lots of sappy feelings that will make you squirm if you're not the sappy feelings type and if that's so, get out. Get out of my blog right now. It's my engagement issue and I'll kick you out if I want because today we are being lovey and giddy and girly with flowers and pretty colors and diamond rings.
And I suspect, over the next year, amidst the usual Yellaphant irreverencies, there will be a bit of talk about flowers and pretty colors and diamond rings and future in-laws (hello, you future in-laws, you) and oh my gah I can't believe I'm old enough to talk about future in-laws, someone get me a drink.
Speaking of drinks, last night B and I went out to dinner to celebrate our new status and my birthday because by the way, it's my birthday. Say it with me now: best birthday everrrrr. One more time with feeling. BEST BIRTHDAY EVERRRRR. Thank you.
We went to our favorite spot in the city and enjoyed delicious food and delicious beers and the best company and my parents were there and my best friend Michael was there and his family was there and everyone was happy because isn't this exciting?
And now it's Monday and I'm a bit