I'm supposed to post every day.
EVERY SINGLE DAY.
IT'S REALLY HARD TO HAVE NEW MATERIAL TO TALK ABOUT EVERY SINGLE DAY.
So, instead, I will give you a funny story from my childhood.
When I was about six, and still lived in Cozad, Nebraska (we moved the summer before I went to second grade) we got a new dog. We're a schnauzer family (TO THE DEATH) and Dexter, our previous dog had died a few years ago. I think it was a few years. I don't really know, I was six. But Dexter died. And mom was given a new schnauzer on mother's day.
BABY SCHNAUZERS ARE SERIOUSLY THE CUTEST THINGS ON THIS PLANET. GOOGLE IT.
She named him Skipper. (Which will become very ironic later.) And I loved him. I loved him so much.
But he was not easy to potty train, as I am told. (This whole story was told to me by my dad, because I was six years old and nobody remembers being six years old.)
My dad continued to say things like, "The next time he pees on the floor, he's gone!" And stuff like that. (Even though he is the biggest softy ever and could never ever do that.)
Then one day, after a particularly vehement tirade by my father, I apparently burst into tears and announced, "If I poop on the floor will you get rid of me too?" My eighteen-year-old self thinks that this was a brilliant maneuver. He did not get rid of the dog. More Skipper stories to come. (He becomes a great source of tragic irony.)
Hope you enjoyed tonight's episode of 'The Childhood of Nicole Rosenau'
More to come.
They will probably get weirder and potentially insanely awkward.