I was supposed to fly to Vegas today.

Normally I hate Vegas. This trip would have been an exception. I’d have been there with several colleagues I like tremendously, looking at meeting space, restaurants and nightclubs as we began planning a big event for January 2009.  I was so ready! It’s not every day I get to wear shorts to work, never mind shorts so reminiscent of the Von Trapp’s curtains.

Instead I’m home with Ear Infection 2.0. I got exactly no sympathy from my dear boyfriend husband last night, as I told him I thought the infection was on the rebound and that I was worried about flying. I believe he may have used the b-a-b-y word. When I woke up in the middle of the night screaming from The Return of the Pick Axe, I think he finally got it.

No Vegas for me. Instead I am home, waiting for my appointment with my ENT and picking stuff out of Fluffy Mcwoofypants’ coat. I swear I don’t send her out in the yard looking like this.

There’s nothing quite so fun as picking those little green…. seed things out of her coat. This picture shows approximately a dozen of them, and believe me there are more.  Loads more.  Enough to create a sticky-green-seed-thing tank top to match the shorts. Which plant, exactly, exists for the sole purpose of propagating its species through a parasitic relationship with the coat of a blonde labradoodle? And what is it doing in my yard?

So tonight, dear colleagues, enjoy your dinner. I’m sure the wine list is outrageous. Tell me all about it when you get back. I’ll be at the ENT, who no doubt will regale me with stories about how small my eustacheon tubes are. Save it, buddy. Just please see what you can do to get the pick axe out of there.