It’s been such a busy week this week. Just about everyone has had something exciting, interesting or scary happen to them this week.
Lashes was driving along minding her own business this week when she got stopped by the police because she had a light out on the back of her car.
” I handled it in the time honoured way of sticking out my boobs and batting my eyelashes”, she said. I was a bit surprised at that for many a reason but mostly because she doesn’t have the kind of boobs that’ll take a bloke’s eye out.
“Really? How did you manage that? Did you stop a passing buxom stranger and ask her to do it for you? I mean you’re not exactly blessed in that department, are you?”
How to elicit a response in one easy lesson.
Her reply is unrepeatable but it made me laugh for ages.
Poor lashes, I always told her she’d inherit my big boobs but she never did. To be honest, I don’t know what she’s moaning about She has perfect half circle boobs. If she wants them bigger she can wear chicken fillets. Is she wants to go without a bra she can, those boobs are perfectly well behaved. Choices, see.
What choice do I have? Wear scaffolding in the form of a big ugly sheepdog bra or just kick ’em out the way when I’m walking if I want to be au naturel (I never do).
All three of the clingons passed their dance exams with honours. Even Munki as the youngest one ever to do a dance exam at that school at the grand old age of three years and three months. Well done kids!
Big N had his laser eye surgery on Friday. I’m so proud of him. That’s a really brave thing to do. Eyes. Ew. Squeamish.
The clinic is in the next town so I drove him to his appointment. We were told to allow two to three hours so my plan had been to stay till he went down for his surgery and then leave to do a bit of shopping and then pick him up after. Four or five times a nurse came through and called him away for another test. Every time he was back in two minutes. I waited till I knew it was surgery time. I wasn’t leaving my boy panic on his own. Once again the nurse came; ‘Do you want to come through?” Again I waited until I knew he was going for his surgery. Two minutes later he was back, red eyed and looking slightly shocked. “I’m done. Let’s go.”
My jaw fell open. I could see by the red eyed devilish look he was sporting, (incidentally, that is a difficult look to wear well) that he had indeed had his surgery – but in two minutes flat? Wow! Apparently it only takes 35 seconds per eye. Even with all the form filling and eye tests we were in and out in less than an hour.
You have to love anaesthesia. He was feeling no pain at all and very chirpy despite having had the front of his eye scraped off. I suggested we pick up some pain killers for later. “No, no, I’m fine.”
We got the painkillers anyway and I think it’s fair to say he was glad of them later in the day. On the journey home I think the shock of what he’d been through hit him and of course the sun came out so his extremely light sensitive eyes struggled to cope. he spent most of the journey with his sunglasses on, his eyes closed and his hands shielding the sides of the glasses to prevent any stray light getting in. Arriving back home he took himself straight off to bed and woke up yesterday morning with 20/20 vision. Glasses? In the bin.
Dance teacher has recovered well enough to turn up at his Saturday morning dance class and is going to a conference in London next week. That is nothing short of a miracle.
Our new pooch arrived yesterday, smelly, dirty and bedraggled and underweight the poor little mite cried all the way home.
One quick bath, which he wasn’t particularly keen on, a good meal and a lot of cuddles later he was looking, smelling and I’ve no doubt feeling, a lot more comfortable and settled. A steady stream of visitors came to greet the new arrival and he handled it all with ease. Whoever had him first had obviously made a good start on training him. He’s showing all the signs of being a cracking dog. It beggars belief that someone took him to a rescue centre. Well. All I can say is, thanks. Your loss is most definitely our gain.
The hardest thing of all this has been finding a name for him. I ran a Facebook competition to see who could come up with the best name. There were lots of responses ranging from the brilliant to the totally unimaginative to the downright stupid but none seemed just right. Someone suggested Merlin which I quite liked the sound of till I imagined myself in the woods shouting ‘Merln! Merlin!’ The chances are that the men in white coats would be there to pick me up in no time! Boofuls and me like the name Sacha but quickly got told by just about everyone it’s a girl’s name. Oh really? The explain Sacha Baron Cohen and Sacha Distel to me. Ok, it’s unisex but most people here seem to think it’s a girl’s name so we ditched that idea. Ho hum, Back to the drawing board. I liked Bailey. Boofuls didn’t. Boofuls liked Reggie. I didn’t. And so it went on. I looked on the internet at dog’s names till my eyeballs fell out.
On Friday night we went to Len’s Mum and Dad’s for a birthday party. After a few drinkies we decided to have a brainstorming session…oops, just remembered we aren’t allowed to say brain storm any more….I meant a thought shower- to find a name for poochie.
Pink Floyd was playing at the time so obviously Floyd came out as a name. Everyone in the room decided that that was a suitable moniker so we went for it. On the way to the rescue centre Boofuls suddenly blurted out, ” I don’t like Floyd.” Sigh. Second choice ( 583rd choice actually) it is then.
Welcome to your new home, Bentley.