During my bathroom routine this morning, I grabbed my stick of deodorant out from behind the mirror, took the top off and applied it. Pretty routine, to say the least. I would like to say that I instantly felt the sting of deodorant in my new open slices of skin, but I cannot. I would like to also say that I was able to see four substantial red cuts across my armpit- one even extending closer to my chest as I stood in front of the mirror. but I cannot. No. The only way I was able to determine that I had been mauled by a wild puggle in my sleep was because I was so uncoordinated that I couldn't get the deodorant cap on in or or two tries without looking. So exasperatingly, I needed to look down to exact my precision between when my left hand was placing the cap and where my shaky right hand was holding the stick and it was then- AND ONLY THEN- that I saw bloody streaks all over the deodorant.
So maybe I did not wake up early on my own as I had previously thought. Because when I woke up this morning, my thoughts were, "Wow, maybe I just figured out how much sleep I actually need to be just right." When really, I should have been thinking, "My dog just mauled me."
Now I know what you are thinking. You are thinking about how long it's been since Marley's nails bave been taken care of. I can't count that high. You may be thinking that I should get rid of my dogs, at least you are if you are my father's mother and you just figured out how to use this world wide web, but I can't get lost in a world of what if's right now. What you should be thinking, what I am most definitely thinking is, "How, in an effort for Marley to climb her way up my body and into my soul this morning, did I not feel each of her claws retracting into my sensitive skin, pulling her up and drawing blood out?"
I clearly need more sleep. And photos not to follow. My mother always said to wear nice underwear un case you get into a car accident and then find yourself hospitalized....