Apparently, I was just not crabby enough. Apparently, I needed less sleep, less money, less time to myself and assloads more frustration.
Apparently, I needed a dog.
So, we drove down to the Toledo area yesterday and came home with Grover, rescued mutt extraordinaire.
His full name, according to his genealogist, Mr. Z, is Sir H. Grosvner Scruffington of the Barkshires. His given name is "Gordon." I actually thought that name was fucking hilarious for a dog. I love human names on dogs. Like Chuck. Or Kevin.
But I was the only one in the crabbshack who liked Gordon, so we had to find something we all agreed on. Stupid democracy. The Old Lady went with the nerdily obvious "Albus."
Fuck no. Like we're not already big enough nerdarinos.
We eventually decided on another "G" name, so as not to confuse the pup. Or course, Mr. Z and Miss O came up with the unusable "Goopula." Then I thought, "Why not just switch the letters around a bit. No use wasting some perfectly good letters."
ME: What about "Grodon"?
MISS O: [laughing, secretly]
MR. Z: What's so funny?
MISS O: Nothing.
ME: No, really. Why is Grodon funny?
MISS O: Isn't that the 'thing' on boys?
MR. Z: [laughing hysterically] NO! That's "scrotum"!
So, he's Grover.
This is gonna be ruff...