This morning the weather is as close to “up north” weather as we get in Metro-Detroit. It’s about 55 degrees, a slight breeze, and the sun is shining. All I need is a lake and no schedule to make it perfect.
The birds are chirping and I’ve got a full cup of coffee, I’m huddled underneath my favorite purple blanket with the puppy curled up at my side. I’m feeling fresh and clean from my shower, my hair is slowly drying from the breeze coming in the window. It’s slightly chilly.
I’m listening to Morning Joe replay the events of the last few days: Istanbul, Brexit, Trump, Hillary…
I sip my coffee and hear a little snore out of said puppy. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Not puppy snores, but puppy farts.
Nothing like an eye-wateringly dense puppy fart to break your coffee by the lake fantasy.
There’s not much you can do when the puppy farts take over a room. You can pull your shirt over your nose, you can run, but you surely can’t hide. My love bug puppy is now getting side eye glances and I think he’s starting to pick up on his influence on the room. He doesn’t care.
So here I sit, spending my morning hour with my shirt over my nose trying to sip my coffee in between puppy farts.
This is the life.